


The Curse of Spike's Ass

by Emelye, whichclothes



Series: The Luchador Series [2]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-31
Updated: 2011-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-28 14:37:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 22,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/308929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emelye/pseuds/Emelye, https://archiveofourown.org/users/whichclothes/pseuds/whichclothes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone has put a curse on Spike's ass.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The first time it happened, it was no big deal. They’d been just outside Mazatlan on their first real mission since Tijuana when Xander found he was having trouble…performing.

They’d been going at it hot and heavy. They were in the desert. They were supposed to be staking out something or other when Spike decided he’d rather be the recipient of the stake in question and begged Xander to bend him over the hood of the viper. At that point, little Xander was totally on board with the plan. They fumbled their jeans down, tongues and teeth clashing as they ground their lengths together. Spike pulled back, grinning and spread himself over the hood of the car before pulling the lube out of his jacket and coating his fingers, slipping one, then two fingers into his entrance in a display that had Xander panting and his cock leaking. Still pistoning his fingers in and out of his pert, pink rosebud, Spike handed the lube off to Xander who slicked himself quickly if not efficiently and positioned himself at the edge of the car to meet Spike’s ass as he opened himself to Xander, moaning like a cat in heat. Xander thrust forward—

—and was suddenly completely soft.

“—The hell?” he muttered.

“Xan? Wassamatter?” Spike panted, straining his neck to look back. “Oh. Huh.”

“Yeah. Sorry, I don’t know—”

“—S’no big deal. Nerves you reckon?”

Xander frowned. “Must be. I thought I was really into this—”

“Shh, c’mere.” Spike slunk forward and pulled Xander against him, kissing him quiet. Almost immediately Xander was hard again. “No pressure, pet. Take you any way I can get you, yeah?” Spike reassured him, running his fingers through Xander’s hair.

Xander sighed. “Yeah, all right.”

So Spike cracked him like a peach and rimmed him until he saw stars. By the time Spike was drilling him like an Arctic wildlife preserve he was hard enough to cut glass and too far gone to remember they’d had any sort of hitch in their plan at all.

Unfortunately it all rushed back with painful clarity two weeks later in LA when they found themselves in the exact same situation.

“What the fuck?” Xander cried in exasperation.

Spike frowned, sympathetic, but frustrated. “Here,” he said. A large silicon butt plug was slapped into Xander’s palm. “Just until you get your mojo back, yeah?”

Xander was disappointed but Spike looked desperate and he wasn’t so prideful that he was about to deny his lover what he needed. He slicked the toy and positioned it at Spike’s entrance.

It refused to go in. Xander made an exasperated noise. “It won’t go in,” he told Spike.

“Fingers, then, Xan, something!” he begged.

Xander lubed his fingers determinedly and massaged Spike’s pucker, crooking one slightly to breach the ring of muscle. It felt like he was trying to shove his finger through a brick wall. “What the _fuck_?”

“Are you kidding me?” Spike moaned.

“Are you clenching or something?”

“I’ve been randy as a goat for this for weeks, Xan. Should be loose as a five dollar slapper.”

Xander winced. “Thanks for that image, but something isn’t working. I can’t get anything in there.” Spike reached around and had no trouble impaling himself on his fingers. Xander swallowed hard. “That is so fucking hot when you do that,” he moaned.

Spike chuckled and reached for Xander’s hand, guiding his fingers to his entrance. Shallow breaths as he anticipated finally being inside his lover, and then—

“What the fuck?” Spike exclaimed as Xander came up against the same barrier as before.

“I told you!”

Spike wasn’t hard anymore. “Why can’t you get in?”

Xander snorted and gave an exaggerated shrug. “I’m the one new to the man sex. How the hell should I know?”

Spike frowned, prodding at his ass experimentally. Nothing. No problem. He grabbed Xander’s hand again and tried ramming a finger into his ass.

“OW!” he cried, pulling away and cradling his smashed finger.

“Jesus, sorry, Xan, I didn’t mean—”

“Spike, what the hell is going on?”

Spike sat thoughtfully on the edge of the bed. “Dunno. It’s like there’s a curse on my ass, or something.”

Xander snorted. “Literally.”

“Yeah. Fuck.”

“Not anymore,” Xander quipped wryly.

Spike shot him a look and grabbed his phone from his coat pocket, flipped and dialed. “Peaches, yeah it’s me. Put the watcher on. Someone’s put a curse on my ass.

“Yes. Literally.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** The Curse of Spike's Ass  
 **Authors:**   and    
 **Chapter:** 2/?  
 **Pairing:** Spike/Xander  
 **Rating:** NC-17 for language and a kinky curse   
 **Disclaimer:** We're not Joss  
 **Warnings:** None so far.  
 **Summary:** Sequel to [El Cuento del Bucanero y del Vampiro](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=El%20Cuento%20del%20Bucanero%20y%20del%20Vampiro&filter=all). Beautiful banner by  .

Previous chapters [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=The%20Curse%20of%20Spike%27s%20Ass&filter=all).

  


[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/000atwh4/)  
---  
  


** Part Deux **

Rush-hour traffic was just beginning to lighten, so it took a million bloody years to drive across town to Angel’s newest lair. Might as well have had a horse and buggy for all the good the Viper’s powerful engine did on the Ten at six in the evening. Spike grumbled and swore the whole way, while Xander tried ineffectually to soothe him with pats on the leg. It wasn’t just the sodding curse that had Spike furious, or the fact that he was having to go crawling back to Captain Forehead with his tail—and not much else, sadly—between his legs.  It was also that he was achingly, maddeningly desperate to be buggered. That was part of the curse as well, he reckoned. Generally he didn’t much care whether he was top or bottom, and Xander’s ripe and beautiful arse was a treat he was always eager to delve into. But now he hungered for something inside him the way he usually hungered for blood, and it was infuriating to be able to do nothing about it.

Spike finally pulled the car to screeching halt in front of Angel’s great pile of a hotel. The penthouse was gone now that Angel’s crew and the Scoobies had banded together to send those lawyer gits packing. Now the Hyperion was home to Slayers and Watchers and soulled demons and others, apparently all banded together in one happy family with rainbows and kittens all around.

And apparently the entire bloody lot was aware of his predicament, because they were all waiting as Spike and Xander trooped into the lobby, their eyes all wide and their mouths badly hiding smirks.

Dawn materialized out of the crowd and launched herself at both of them with a squeal that hurt Spike’s ears. “It’s so good to see you again even if the circumstances aren’t so great, and I’m not supposed to know what’s going on, but come _on_ , I am not a child. I’m almost nineteen years old! And wow, Xan, you have a really great tan.”

Xander sort of peeled her off them both and gave her a brotherly kiss on the cheek. “It’s great to see you, too, Dawnie. We’ll catch up soon, I promise. But first we need to get our little, uh, problem straightened out, okay?”

Spike knew perfectly well that Xander was just about bursting with double-entendres and lame jokes at Spike’s expense, but Xander didn’t let any of them slip. Spike intended on rewarding him properly for his restraint, as soon as he was able.

Percy was leaning up against the front desk, looking at Spike speculatively. Peaches, of course, was right beside him, arms crossed over his chest, great brow glowering. And beside _him_ was Buffy, who, Spike couldn’t help but notice,was looking awfully cozy beside Charlie-boy. Off to one side, Giles and Fred were whispering to each other. Apparently this lot had shagged their way to victory.

“Don’t fancy an audience for this,” Spike said. 

“In here, then, please,” Wesley said, gesturing toward a door. Spike and Xander followed him there, as did Angel. Several others looked as if they wanted to come along, but Spike glared at them and they backed off.

The door led to a small, slightly cluttered office that smelled of whiskey and sex. A dozen or so books were spread untidily across the desk, and a glass with film of dried pig’s blood was perched precariously atop it all.

As soon as they were inside and the door firmly shut, Spike whirled to face Wesley. “So? What do I have to do to free my arse, Watcher?”

“I think I shall have to, erm, investigate more closely before I draw any conclusions.” The man’s face had gone an interesting shade of purple.

Spike rolled his eyes. “Right.” He unbuckled his belt and unfastened his flies, then shoved his jeans down past his thighs. He turned around and braced his hands on the desk, baring his back end for inspection. He was fairly certain he didn’t imagine the three gasps that sounded in unison. 

But then nothing happened. Spike looked over his shoulder to see that Wesley was staring at his arse, transfixed. “Don’t have all night, do we?” Spike said irritably.

Wes started slightly. “Uh, yes. Quite. If I may?”

“Get on with it already.”

Wesley came a few steps closer, and then, very hesitantly, set his hands on Spike’s cheeks.  He spread them very gingerly, and Spike sighed and collapsed a little so that his face was resting on his arms.

“As I understand it, Spike, you’re unable to, erm, insert anything?”

“I can stick my own fingers inside. And Xan can put his cock in me, but then it goes soft right off. Anything else—Xan’s fingers, toys, whatever—won’t go in at all.”

“It’s like there’s a brick wall,” Xander added helpfully.

“I do not have bloody buildings in my arse,” Spike grumbled.

Wesley cleared his throat. “May I, ah,--“

“Go on.” Why not? It wasn’t like his humiliation could be any more complete, could it?

Wesley took his hands away for a moment. There was a slight slapping sound that Spike realized was the noise of Wesley pulling on a latex glove, and he felt offended. Wasn’t like the berk was going to catch something from him, was it? Spike’s arse was as germ-free as a surgery. You could eat off the sodding thing. But he didn’t say anything, and a moment later his cheeks were spread again and he felt the tentative touch of rubber against his pucker. The touch became firmer, but there was, of course, no entry.

“Hmm,” said Wesley.

“And what does that mean?” Spike asked.

“Just a moment, please. I’ve borrowed a device from Fred.”

Spike looked over his shoulder again, worried about what sort of device it might be. He was slightly relieved to see it was only a small plastic scope of the sort a doctor might use. But he couldn’t help but notice as well that Wesley was continuing to blush furiously, and that he had a very obvious erection tenting his trousers. Well, Spike did have a very nice posterior, after all. Couldn’t blame the bloke. He put his head back down.

Wesley tried to put the scope up Spike’s bum, but naturally that didn’t work either. Spike was about to demand that the Watcher try something different when a large and cold palm settled on his rump and Xander shouted, “Hey!”

Angel was crowding up against Wesley, his eyes focused intently on Spike’s arse. He started to rub and knead Spike’s muscle a bit, and Wes either didn’t care or didn’t notice, because he’d given up all pretense of examining Spike and was now smoothing his palm over the other cheek.

With some difficulty, Spike wiggled his way free and yanked his jeans up. Xander placed himself between Spike and the others, and he looked as furious as Spike had ever seen him. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? We came to you for help, not groping, you great big pervs!”

Wesley stumbled back a bit and the pouf looked appalled. “I, uh, I….” Angel stammered.

Wesley raised his chin. “I’m afraid the curse is more insidious than we’d realized. Xander, haven’t you noticed that Spike is especially, erm, irresistible?”

Xander slung an arm around Spike’s shoulders. “Hey, my vamp is _always_ irresistible.”

“You haven’t had any unusual urges with respect to Spike?”

Xander shrugged. “If you mean have I wanted to nail him, well, yeah. Of course. But there’s nothing unusual about that. I mean, look at him. He’s the sexiest guy around, dead or alive.”

Spike couldn’t help a bit of a smug grin at that, and he reminded himself to make his boy’s reward especially good.

“Yes, well, I’m sure you find your…Spike…very attractive, Xander. But at the moment it appears that the sentiment is rather universal.”

Xander blinked at him.

Angel gave one of his drama queen sighs. “What he means is that not only has the curse blocked Spike’s ass, but it’s also made it so his ass attracts others like syrup attracts flies.”

“Oi! My arse is not a flytrap!”

“You know what I mean, William.”

Xander shook his head slightly. “So let me get this straight. Now everyone wants to screw Spike, and Spike really wants to be screwed, but his butt’s a no-fly zone?”

“Precisely,” Wesley said.

“Shit. That’s one bitch of a curse.”

Spike noticed that Angel and Wes had stepped back, leaving as much space between themselves and him as possible. He was suddenly very tired. “Right, then. Now we know the scope of the problem. How do we bloody fix it?”

Wesley frowned thoughtfully. “Do you two have any idea who might have done this? Someone who was quite angry with you, I expect, and also adept at magic.”

Spike and Xander looked at each other and then groaned as the realization hit them both.

“I reckon,” said Spike, “it was those bleeding witches.”

  


  



	3. Chapter 3

It wasn’t a long story. It was pretty much down to a beer bong full of tequila in the parking lot of Señor Frogs.

He’d stupidly made one half wistful comment about Spring Break and his missing of the whole debauched lifestyle of the college educated, and Spike decided to overcompensate. As usual.

And so there they were, drinking death-defying levels of fermented agave through a PVC hose while a bunch of wasted college kids cheered them on. There was probably music. There was definitely dancing. They were kind of hazy on the details after that point, but they did remember when it was time to crawl to shelter that they had a hell of a time convincing the three girls they’d been dancing with that their company was unnecessary. Admittedly, it was a bit of a mixed message to blow them off while sticking his tongue down their throats, so Xander could understand the confusion.

At the time he’d though their witchy cursing was kind of cute.

Angel was trying to cop a feel of Spike’s ass again.

It wasn’t so cute anymore.

Xander grabbed Angel’s wrist and slammed him against the wall. “The next time it touches him, it comes _off_. Do you understand?”

Angel swallowed hard, and nodded. Xander released him.

Spike stood by the desk, panting quietly. “That was bloody _hot_ , Xander,” he whispered as Xander took up a position at Spike’s side to fight off any and all comers.

Xander blinked and turned to Wesley. “So how do we find our Girls Gone Wild and put a stop to this?”

Wesley shook his head slightly as if to clear it. “Right, well, a simple scrying spell should suffice providing their spell left a magical signature—”

“Do you need us for that?” Xander asked brusquely as Spike’s fingers began tracing the waistband of his jeans.

Wesley and Angel’s eyes both dilated at the sight of Spike grinding into Xander’s hip. “No, no, I think we’ll be fine here. You should probably take Spike somewhere out of the way until this clears up,” Wesley answered hoarsely as Angel slipped an arm around his waist.

“Right. Let us know how it works out,” he said, taking Spike’s hand and dragging him, bodily from the room.

Two hours later, they were set up in a warded and spelled suite, Spike essentially jailed until the spell lifted and his ass was no longer a danger to himself or others. Xander’s erection strained against the front of his jeans as he paced back and forth in front of Spike.

“Didn’t seem to mind Angel touching you very much. Wesley either, for that matter,” Xander muttered lowly.

“Told you Xan, it’s this spell. Can’t help it, can I?”

Xander’s head whipped around to find Spike looking penitently at him through his eyelashes, the beginnings of a smile curling the edges of his mouth.

Xander grinned evilly.

Getting kinky with a vampire, was _so_ much fun. And yeah, a little bit of a cliché. But sometimes clichés were good. Especially when it meant you were boinking someone with inhuman flexibility, no inhibitions and a limitless imagination.

Like right then, Xander could tell Spike was imagining him being masterful. Spike liked it when Xander got masterful.

Xander could do masterful. Xander stopped smiling.

“Take your clothes off,” Xander commanded. “Go kneel on the bed. Spread your knees, put your hands behind your back. Look at me.” Spike complied. Xander grinned at the sight of his lover flushed and hard for him. He took two of Spike’s fingers in his mouth and began to lave them with his tongue until Spike was whining with need.

“That’s right, you need this don’t you, need to be filled, need me to fill you…” Xander chanted, hands trailing over Spike’s chest, his legs. Spike moaned. Xander stripped and began fisting himself roughly. “I want you to think about what I’m going to do to you when the curse is gone. Touch yourself, Spike.”

Spike’s fingers began circling his opening as his other hand found the moisture on the head of his cock and began to spread it around before starting a slow stroke. Xander moaned at the sight and spread his stance wider, his other hand caressing his balls as his fist tightened around the base of his cock.

Spike’s fingers pumped in and out of his hole as Xander watched. “That’s me fucking you,” Xander told him. Spike bit his lip and sped up his pace. “Can you feel me? How hard you make me? How hot I am inside you?”

“Xan,” Spike whimpered, pulling his cock desperately. “Please, Xan, touch me.”

Xander rode the edge of his own pleasure, felt his balls drawing up with every needy little sound Spike made as he franticly fucked himself on his fingers.

“ _Please_ ,” Spike begged. He was visibly shaking, his cock purple and leaking steadily.

Xander closed the distance between them and leaned over. As he placed a single teasingly chaste kiss on Spike’s lips he erupted beneath him with a muffled scream. Xander shuddered and came, ropes of white painting Spike’s bare chest and mingling with his own explosive release.

They collapsed bonelessly onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and tired laughter.

Three floors below Angel pounded into Wesley. Books and artifacts were scattered on the floor around them, swept off the desk in haste. Only moments after Spike and Xander left the room Wesley was bent over the desk with his trousers around his ankles with barely enough presence of mind to incant the spell that would broadcast the goings on in the suite above into the study below.

In the lobby, the others reacted with varying degrees of surprise when the shouting began. Fred and Giles heard Angel’s name screamed often enough in that tone to know better than to go near the office. They blushed and took their research to the kitchen. Gunn and Buffy kept sparring with only a moment’s pause to roll their eyes.

Wesley and Angel were sprawled over the furniture when Xander began to snore. Wesley ended the spell with a lazy sweep of his hand through the salt circle on the bookshelf.

“I suppose I should probably see about finding those witches,” he said with little enthusiasm. Angel grunted agreeably. Wesley peeled himself off the wooden chair, slipped on his trousers and quickly assembled the spell on the desk. A blank parchment scroll lay beside the incense burner, waiting to be filled with directions to the door of the culprits. “Stessi a stessi,” he incanted. A few red sparks shot out of the censor and a sad puff of smoke. The page remained blank. “Damn.”

“What? It didn’t work?” Angel asked.

“Apparently.”

Angel frowned. “Please, tell me we’re not going to Mexico. I can’t afford another trip to Mexico.”

“It appears we have no choice but to—”

“—Please don’t make me do this—”

“—go to Mexico and try our luck at finding the witches there.”

“—Son of a _bitch_ ,” said Angel feelingly.

Wesley smiled sympathetically. “On the up side, Spike and Xander are most likely asleep. If we pack now, we could take the Viper.”

There was more Angelus than Angel in the answering grin.

Wesley shivered and mentally calculated the logistics of negotiating the car’s gearshift while giving road head.


	4. Chapter 4

**Title:** The Curse of Spike's Ass  
 **Authors:**   and    
 **Chapter:** 4/?  
 **Pairing:** Spike/Xander  
 **Rating:** NC-17 for pr0n.  
 **Disclaimer:** We're not Joss  
 **Warnings:** None so far.  
 **Summary:** Sequel to [El Cuento del Bucanero y del Vampiro](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=El%20Cuento%20del%20Bucanero%20y%20del%20Vampiro&filter=all). Image by the fabulous .

Previous parts [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=The%20Curse%20of%20Spike%27s%20Ass&filter=all).

  


[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/000atwh4/)  
---  
  
** Parte Quatro **

He should have been happy. Not _perfectly_ happy, never that, but pleased. Content. Delighted, even. Because he’d mended his fences with Buffy and beat those lawyer bastards and now he was surrounded by allies who made him stronger and lifted some of the burden from his shoulders. And there was Wesley, who turned out to be not only a good friend and trusted confidante, but also an enthusiastic bed partner with a dark and twisted streak that almost put Angelus to shame. But he wasn’t happy. He was annoyed and exasperated and angry, and he was stuck in a car and going half-insane from sexual frustration.

In retrospect, they should have taken the jeep. Yeah, the Viper was a lot more fun, and he’d missed the car desperately in the long months since Spike had appropriated it, but it was just too fucking small. And the whole time he was driving, he was thinking about Spike, and about Spike’s ass, and there was Wes just inches away, also thinking about Spike’s ass, and there wasn’t a thing either of them could do about it. At least with the jeep they could have pulled off on a side street somewhere and had a quick, satisfying fuck across the back seat.

These thoughts were swirling around in his head so vigorously that he wasn’t really thinking about anything else, and it wasn’t until they were past the border that he turned to Wes and asked, “So, um, Mexico’s kind of a big country. Any idea where to begin?”

Wesley sighed and gave him a tiny smile. “I do. But I don’t expect you’re going to be happy with it.”

“I’m on an errand I don’t want to run, in a country I don’t want to visit because those two morons managed to piss off witches and turn Spike’s ass into some kind of supernatural homing beacon. And now you’re telling me I’m not gonna like the plan. Why am I not surprised?”

Wes put his hand on Angel’s knee. It felt very warm. “I don’t have many contacts south of the border. So I think the wisest course of action will be to begin with the one person I know has some familiarity with magical activity.”

Angel shut his eyes so long he almost crashed the car. “Where to, Wes?”

“I believe it’s time to call on Mama Paloma.”

***

Spike woke up feeling happy. Yeah, the demanding hunger of his body was still there, and he would still practically trade his soul to have Xander’s cock stuffed up his arse. And yes, Xander was currently starfished across the bed, snoring like a pneumatic drill, all the blankets bunched up under his belly. Spike was hanging on to one small bit of the bed, trying not to fall to the floor.

But Percy was on the job, and surely he’d have this whole thing sorted straight away. And in the meantime, he had free access to Xander’s lovely arse, and that arse was currently inches away from Spike’s hand, exposed in all its white and muscular glory, two pinprick wounds still visible on the right cheek.

Spike let his fingers creep across the sheet, up over Xander’s hip, and then onto that smooth, rounded skin, before they dipped a bit into the cleft that was still slightly sticky from slick and vampire spunk.

Xander cracked open his eye. “You have got to be kidding.”

“Dead serious, love.”

“We went three rounds last night, Spike. Three. I’m a young, red-blooded American man, but I have my limits.”

“Fine.” Spike pouted slightly in a way he knew Xander couldn’t resist. “Just have to take matters in hand myself, then.” Xander’s eye widened slightly as Spike grabbed his own half-hard cock and began to stroke slowly and leisurely. His other hand played idly with his nipples, flicking and tweaking a bit. His cock filled all the way and the foreskin drew back, and Spike hissed slightly as he thumbed his sensitive little slit.

“Guh,” said Xander.

“Got something to add, pet?”

Xander groaned and then half-rolled, half stumbled out of bed. His hair was standing up in wild snarls and he had more bite marks encircling his nipples. Spike licked his lips and stroked faster.

“Spike, can you just, kinda…hold that thought? I think if I had some breakfast—something hearty, maybe half a cow—I could give it another shot.”

Spike paused in his movements. Now that his boy had mentioned it, he was a mite peckish. All he’d had the night before was a mouthful or two of Xander’s blood and, while that had been delicious as always, it wasn’t really enough to fill his stomach. He wondered whether the pouf was still trying to survive off that pig’s blood shite, or if he’d finally found a source for human.

Spike looked down at his erection a bit regretfully—it was a shame to waste it like this—and stood. “All right. Let’s go have a nosh, then.”

Xander looked uneasy. “Relax. I can bring you something. Breakfast in bed.”

“I am not going to stay in this room until the curse is lifted.”

“But this room is safe. It’s got the spells and the wards, and—“

“And I’ll go bloody insane if I’m stuck inside for long. No offense, Xander, but the delights of your body can only keep me occupied for so long.”

“There’s tv, too,” Xander muttered unhappily.

“I’m a grown vamp. I can protect my virtue from a few groping humans.”

Xander still didn’t look happy, but he nodded and pulled on his jeans. His t-shirt was draped over a lamp, but he retrieved that and put it on as well. It took Spike a few minutes more to find his own clothing—how in bloody hell did his trousers end up _there_? Meanwhile, Xander happily ogled Spike’s arse, and Spike couldn’t help from giving it an extra little wiggle or two.

The lobby, mercifully, was empty. After some time they discovered the hotel’s enormous kitchen. Xander whooped with glee when he saw a pink box still half-full of donuts on one stainless steel counter, and then chortled over the steaks that were in one of the fridges. They couldn’t find any blood, though, and they finally concluded that Angel must keep his supply in his own rooms. “Go ahead and eat,” Spike said. “I’ll find Peaches’s stash.”

“Uh-uhn. No way.” Xander’s lips were covered in powdered sugar. “Not letting you out of my sight. I’ll eat quick and then we’ll go together.”

So Spike crossed his arms and tapped his foot impatiently, while Xander threw a steak into a pan and fried it into something marginally not raw. “Want a bite?” he asked, shoving a bloody forkful into his mouth.

Spike realized he’d been staring. “Nah. But I’ll be having some of you for dessert.” He waggled his eyebrows meaningfully and, to his delight, Xander actually blushed a bit.

While Xander ate, Spike leaned back in his chair and rubbed his palm against the bulge in his own trousers. As he’d hoped, that encouraged his boy to move things along, and Xander had soon gobbled his food without actually chewing it very much. Xander threw his dishes into a cavernous sink and then he and Spike made their way back toward the lobby.

Just as they were about to climb the stairs, though—Spike had assured Xander he could find Angel’s room by scent—Giles and Fred entered from a side door, both looking slightly tousled. “Oh,” said Giles. “You’re out of your room.”

“Just looking for vampire munchies,” Xander said. “You know where Angel keeps them?”

“Yes, in his rooms, I believe.”

“Ta,” Spike said, and began to go upstairs.

“Wait!” Spike and Xander stopped and turned around and looked at Fred. She was fetching as always, in a simple little cotton dress with tiny flowers sprinkled over it. “Rupert and I were, um, thinking.”

“You know a way to lift the curse?” Xander asked.

“Um. Not exactly. But we were kinda thinking, uh….”

Giles interrupted. “We thought that perhaps we could help. But first an examination of the, erm, body part in question would be necessary. A rather thorough examination.” Giles cleared his throat while Fred nodded enthusiastically.

Spike started to descend again. He wouldn’t mind knowing what those dainty hands felt like on his skin, and as for the Watcher, he’d always had a bit of a dom streak—sort of a schoolmaster thing—that Spike found intriguing. He wondered whether the examination might involve a bit of a caning to his backside. All in the name of science, of course.

But Xander growled and grabbed his arm and hauled him back up. “There’s been enough inspection of my vampire’s ass, thanks very much. I’m sure Angel and Wesley would be happy to fill you in on what they found.”

The humans in the lobby looked disappointed. “But Angel and Wes are gone,” Fred pouted.

“Gone? Gone where?” Spike asked.

Giles sighed. “Mexico. To sort your problem. Wesley wasn’t able to find the witches from here.”

Xander and Spike looked at each other. “Right, then,” Spike said. “Which room is the pouf’s?”

“Three seventeen,” said Fred. “But if you change your mind—“

“He won’t,” Xander said firmly and hauled Spike away.

Angel’s suite was spacious and comfortable and he had his own small kitchen. To Spike’s delight, there were several packets of human blood in the fridge, nicked from a hospital or blood-bank, perhaps. He emptied one of them into a black mug and heated it in the microwave.

Xander watched him drink it with a scowl on his face. “It might take them a while to track down our witches.”

Spike nodded. “Might.”

“And I don’t suppose I can convince you to stay safely in our room until they get back?”

“No.”

“Spike, I don’t know how long I can keep you away from Grabby McFeely and the other pervs, and just the _thought_ of you and Giles makes me need brain bleach, and I don’t want to end up fighting my friends—or yours—over you.”

“So what do you suggest, then, whelp?”

Xander sighed loudly. “I guess it’s time to make another run for the border.”

Although Spike wasn’t as upset about being lusted after as Xander was, he really didn’t want anything to damage their still fledgling relationship. He took another package of blood from the fridge and poured it into his cup. 

“All right. We can leave at sundown, I expect.” And then it occurred to him that Angel had almost certainly taken the Viper. Bugger.


	5. Chapter 5

Halfway to Tijuana, Spike wasn’t looking so good. He was slumped in the passenger seat of Wesley’s jeep and rubbing at his thighs, rocking slightly. He looked like a five am junkie sitting outside a methadone clinic that opened at six.

“Spike? You okay?” Xander asked him.

Spike shook his head, turning concerned blue eyes on Xander. “I don’t think so. Feels like bugs crawling in my skin.”

Xander frowned and reached over, stilling one of Spike’s hands with his own. “We’ll get there soon.”

Spike snorted. “An’ then what? We don’t know where these b-bitches are and you heard what the Watcher said, y-you c-cant f-find them with m-magic,” he stuttered, teeth chattering.

Xander clenched his jaw and pushed the Jeep to ninety. “We’ll find them. And then I’ll feed them their teeth for doing this.”

Spike gave him a pathetic, sniffly sort of grin. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

Xander rolled his eyes and gunned it.

 

Wesley and Angel were waiting for them at Mama Paloma’s house, fidgeting like they were three seconds from doing unspeakable things to his vampire and doing their level best to hide it. Not for the first time since setting out did Xander wish Spike would have stayed in the damned room. He helped his jittering wreck of a lover out of the cab as Mama Paloma strode out the front door with stern purpose.

“Mis hijos, qué usted ahora ha hecho?” She asked, taking Spike’s elbow and dragging him into the house.

“Someone cursed him in Mazatlan. We’re trying to find them but—”

Mama Paloma hustled Spike onto the sofa and took a bowl of something soupy and herbal from the mantle and began spooning it into his mouth. “Si, si, I know.” Spike grimaced at the taste of the brew. “I know it’s terrible, mijo, but it will help until we find your brujas.” Spike just nodded and allowed her to feed him.

“Do you have any idea who might be behind this?” Wesley asked.

Mama shook her head. “No. But you should asks Señora Martinez. She lives up the road. Her daughter is una partera in Mazatlan. She might know.”

“Thank you, we’ll look into that. Angel,” he prompted. Angel continued to stare at Spike with his mouth partially open. “ _Angel_ ,” Wes repeated more forcefully. Angel shook off his fascination and followed Wesley out the door. The sound of the Jeep’s engine starting up pleased Xander vaguely, knowing they’d been left with the viper, but as he helplessly held Spike’s hand while he shook and tried to swallow the goop Mama Paloma fed him, he felt more than a little helpless and wished he could have gone on the search for the witches.

“Mijo,” Mama addressed him gently, “There’s blood in la cocina. Why don’t you get him some.”

Xander took a deep breath and another look at his semi-insensate lover. “You sure you’re all right if I leave him alone here?”

Mama Paloma chuckled under her breath. “Si, mijo, we’ll be fine. The curse is nothing to me.”

Xander’s eyebrows raised at that. Whether it was age or magic or some combination of the two that protected her, he didn’t know, but he was grateful for something to be doing either way.

He’d gotten dozens of mugs of blood for Spike over the past few months, but for some reason, he always found himself lingering over the task in this particular kitchen. Maybe it was the lack of microwave, but Xander doubted it. The first time he’d found blood for Spike here he’d been trying so hard to be the lover he couldn’t be for Anya. He’d never understood then what it meant to love someone for all of what they were as well as what they were trying to be. He thought encouraging Anya to be more human was being supportive. He hadn’t really understood that for as much as she had a heartbeat and a soul, she was, culturally, still a demon. He hadn’t really understood that until their wedding day, and it made him sad to think how far they’d gotten for not having understood her nearly at all. He guessed maybe she’d been just as afraid of being alone as he’d been back then. But, no, he’d loved her. And she’d loved him. There’d just been a lot of growing up to be done for both of them before they could have, _should have_ , considered a future together. _Not that she’d get the chance now, of course_.

Xander stirred the blood and gave a sad little smile. Anya wouldn’t have liked him to dwell on his mistakes with her. She’d probably have said something like “Xander, I put a lot of work into you. Don’t you dare waste it moping. You have a hot blond demon to give orgasms to. Now get your shit together and make me proud!” Xander laughed at imaginary Anya as he carefully poured the blood into a mug. He wondered, idly what she would have thought of Spike’s curse. He’d heard enough of her stories to know it would probably have been right up her alley. She’d probably have given the girls points for irony.

Xander stopped in the doorway suddenly. “No, she wouldn’t have. She’d have called them a bunch of rip-off artists because this is _exactly_ the curse she used on that guy in Venice in the 1700’s,” he remembered to himself. _Shit_. No wonder they couldn’t find the witches.

They weren’t witches at all. And they were calling plays from _his_ ex-fiance’s playbook of greatest hits. How _dare_ they!

Xander was fuming by the time he handed the mug to Mama Paloma, but he needn’t have bothered. Spike’s trembling had lessened enough for him to hold the mug on his own.

“Xan? What’s wrong,” Spike asked.

Xander flipped open his phone and dialed Wesley. “Hey Wes. Yeah, I know you just left. I know why your spell didn’t work. They’re vengeance demons.”

Xander let that information sink in. Spike’s eyes widened and Xander took his hand.

“Yeah, I’m sure. The curse? It’s one of Anya’s. And it gets better. We don’t have a lot of time to get this fixed. Um, let’s just say it’s not good, okay? Yeah. Yeah, that’s probably right. Okay, I’ll ask. Yep. Bye.”

Xander turned back to Spike. “Okay, so they’re vengeance demons. But this is good, because they can’t exact vengeance for themselves! We just have to figure out who you scorned and get them to take back their wish.”

“Um, Xan, first off, I reckon a list of the birds I’ve scorned could probably fill a phone book. And second, the last time Anya tried taking back a wish D’hoffryn got shirty and burned up Cecily. I don’t think any of his pets are going to feature a do-over.”

Xander frowned. “Yeah, but I don’t think poaching Anya’s curses is exactly an approved practice either. The way she talked, originality was a big thing for them. If we threaten to expose them for plagiary, they might think twice.”

“Or they might reduce us to a smoking pile of ash.”

“Or that.”

Spike scrubbed at his face. “So what’s gonna happen to me if this curse doesn’t get lifted?”

Xander sighed and stared at a knot in the wood floor waiting for a more tactful answer than “You go crazy with lust. The other guy had a heart attack and died. I don’t know what’ll happen to you but Anya didn’t invent a lot of non-fatal curses.”

“That goop Mama Paloma gave me seemed to help a bit. Reckon it’s bought us some time?” Spike asked, hopefully.

Xander shrugged. “It’s possible.”

“Si, mis hijos. It helps. But not forever. You must find this person you angered rápidamente.”

Spike took a deep breath and squared his shoulders with a little half smile. “Get us some paper, love,” he told Mama. “Guess it’s time to write that phone book.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Title:** The Curse of Spike's Ass  
 **Authors:**     and    
 **Chapter:** 6/?  
 **Pairing:** Spike/Xander  
 **Rating:**  NC-17  
 **Disclaimer:** We're not Joss  
 **Warnings:** None so far.  
 **Summary:** Sequel to [El Cuento del Bucanero y del Vampiro](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=El%20Cuento%20del%20Bucanero%20y%20del%20Vampiro&filter=all). Image by the fabulous .

Previous parts [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=The%20Curse%20of%20Spike%27s%20Ass&filter=all).

  


[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/000atwh4/)  
---  
  
** Numero Seis **

Spike licked at the pencil tip and frowned. It wasn’t fair. He’d always been a perfect gentleman when…well, when he was a gentleman. Never once an untoward suggestion or even a lascivious glance toward the fairer sex, and he’d never even considered blokes. If Cecily had had him, he would have been faithful to her until the day he died. But then he got a demon jammed inside him, and he couldn’t really be held responsible for what he did then, could he? 

No, he concluded, as he tried to think past the maddening ache in his cock and arse, past the fuzziness from Mama Paloma’s dodgy soup, if some bird was angry enough at him to wish him ill in front of vengeance demons, it had to be someone he’d encountered since the soul. That was a much shorter list, at least.

Xander looked over at him, concern clear in his warm brown eye. “It might help if you went alphabetically,” he said.

“Ta,” Spike replied as nicely as possible. Xander meant well, he reckoned.

Then Xander leaned in close and whispered in his ear. “Get your list written and I’ll give you a blow-job.”

Well, that was good incentive. “Buffy,” Spike said, and wrote the name on his paper.

“Buff? What have you done lately to piss her off?”

Spike held up his hand and counted off the reasons on his fingers. “Abandoned her charms for yours. Locked her in the closet with Peaches. Didn’t discourages Peaches from falling into Percy’s arms. Kept one of her Slayerettes in Mexico.”

Xander pondered it for a moment. “Nah. I don’t think that’s enough. Besides, if she was after you she wouldn’t make a wish with cut-rate vengeance demons. She’s come kick your ass herself.”

Spike nodded. His boy was right. He crossed her name off his list. He wrote Dru’s instead.

“Okay, so the ex is kinda, uh, eccentric. She wasn’t happy about Buff and she probably wouldn’t be thrilled about me and the soul thing. But why would she go after you now? And is this really her MO?”

“No.” He sighed and leaned against Xander’s shoulder. “Haven’t seen her in ages anyhow. And besides, she cheated on me loads of times!” His voice rose in indignation and Xander patted his thigh. Right. Getting a bit off-track, there. Xan’s lovely mouth was waiting. “Could it be a bloke, do you reckon? Plenty of those with a grudge.”

“Anya said her gig was strictly for the X-chromosome-only set. But if these bitches were willing to bootleg, maybe they weren’t so much with the other rules either.”

Spike closed his eyes and leaned into his boy’s heat, overcome with the hopelessness of his task. But then Mama Paloma stepped closer and smoothed a curl away from Spike’s forehead. “Mijo, you must think. Someone who would do such a thing to you, I think you hurt her very badly. Someone you had un romancito with, yes? Someone, mmm, perhaps una poquita boba?”

Spike groaned very loudly. “Fuck. Harmony.”

“What? Where?” Angel and Wesley had returned, and now Angel was looking about the room in alarm.

“I suspect Spike has just determined who placed the curse on him.” Wes had an arm firmly around Angel’s waist, Spike noticed, as if he were restraining the pouf from darting forward. “Are you certain, Spike?”

“No. But it makes sense, doesn’t it? Our…flings haven’t exactly ended well.”

“You mean you dumped her twice, once for Buffy and once for Xander,” Angel pointed out unhelpfully.

“Yeah. Staked her once, too.”

“She did freak out and burn all your stuff that time,” Xander added.

Spike didn’t want to deal with Harmony. He didn’t want curses or vengeance demons or magic or any of that rot. He didn’t even really want everyone lusting after him, although it was a bit of fun to watch the pouf pant after his arse. He just wanted his boy and a shag now and then, a bit of blood and whiskey, a nice scuffle every so often. Was that so much to ask?

He put down the pencil and pad of paper and rubbed his eyes with one hand. “All right. Where is the dozy cow, then?”

“Gone,” said Angel.

“Gone?” Spike and Xander replied in unison.

“Yeah. When we were fighting Wolfram & Hart it turned out she was kind of on the wrong side. She was screwing Marcus Hamilton, actually. When things got ugly, she took off.”

Spike decided not to comment on Harm’s relationship with that wanker. And he wasn’t exactly shocked she’d been playing for the enemy—the bint always did have her own best interests in mind.

“I believe my locator spell will work on Miss Kendall,” Wes said.

“Lovely.” Spike jumped to his feet, tugging Xander along with him. “You dig the old girl up, yeah? I need a…a kip.”

Everyone in the room knew he had no intention of sleeping, but they all nodded. All except Angel, that is, who looked as if he intended to follow Spike right into the bedroom, but was brought up short by Wesley’s grip on the back of his belt. “I shall need your assistance,” Wesley hissed, and Angel’s shoulders slumped a bit.

The room was as airy as Spike remembered, with white linens and a tile floor and an open-beamed ceiling. Not that it mattered much to him right now, as he dragged Xander to the bed. Xander grinned at him and sank to his knees, eagerly reaching for Spike’s flies.

But Spike grabbed Xander’s hands and held them fast. “You’re not cross with me, love?”

“For what? Dumping that skank?”

“Causing trouble. Sending us off on wild vamp chases. Stoppering up my arse and having Angel and sundry drooling over me.”

Xander dipped his head and kissed the inside of Spike’s thigh. “I’ve done my share of unwise magical monkey business. Remember Sweet? And then there was the whole love spell fiasco. Even Dru was after me. Mrs. Summers was after me!” He shuddered.

Spike was suddenly overcome with a wave of love he knew wasn’t the least spell-induced, but just genuine, deep affection. Xander cared for him even if he fucked up. He released Xander’s hands and ruffled his hair instead. “We’ll undo this hex and then I want you buried so deep inside me I can taste you.”

“Way to go with the romance, man,” Xander chuckled. But he unfastened Spike’s trousers and carefully pulled out Spike’s desperately hard cock. Spike groaned just at the feel of the warm hand on his skin. He was going to ask Xander to wank himself as well, but then Xander’s lips closed around him and coherent language was suddenly beyond him. Besides, that beautiful mouth working him was a lovely enough sight, and Xander’s forehead furrowed slightly in concentration, and the floppy brown hair not quite covering the one pretty eye.

It didn’t take long before Spike was digging his fingers into Xander’s shoulders and pumping his hips as well as his position allowed. Xander might have been relatively new to man-on-man action, but he’d taken to it like a pro, and now he didn’t even choke as he relaxed his throat and swallowed Spike down. Spike moaned, “Oh, pet!” and came. Xander continued to suck on him until Spike withdrew his sensitized flesh.

As soon as Spike had tucked his cock back into his trousers—and the stupid thing was still stubbornly half-hard—Xander rose and practically climbed into Spike’s lap. Spike bit at his boy’s slightly swollen lips and then they kissed, Spike tasting himself on Xander’s tongue. “Gods, I want you,” Xander growled in his ear when they drew slightly apart.

“’M all yours, love. Can’t shag me, but my mouth still works, or we could—“

“Let’s just go free your ass, okay?”

Angel and Wes both swallowed audibly when Spike and Xander re-entered the room. Mama Paloma just winked. “You had a pleasant siesta, mijos?” 

“Very refreshing.” Spike sniffed. “Smells like hocus-pocus in here.”

“Now it smells like sex,” Angel muttered, and then yelped when Wes elbowed him hard.

“I believe I’ve located Miss Kendall. It was quite difficult—the undead aren’t easy to track, you know. For a few moments there it appeared she might be in Russia.”

“Russia!” Spike had last visited there during the revolution and although the feeding had been brilliant then, he didn’t much fancy a holiday in Moscow now.

“No, that was an error. In fact, we’re very much in luck. It appears that she is in Cabo San Lucas now.”

Xander slung an arm around Spike’s shoulder. “Great. Let’s go.”

“Let me pack you some of my soup,” Mama Paloma said, and bustled off towards the kitchen. “It will help you as you travel, mijo.”

“We’re going with!” Angel said, leaping to his feet. “You might, um, need Wes’s help with the magic.”

Xander narrowed his eye at Angel. “Fine. But we’re going in separate cars, Deadboy.”


	7. Chapter 7

They found her in Cabo Wabo snacking on one of Sammy Hagar’s groupies. The remains, human and otherwise, of what looked like one hell of a party were scattered around the vacant club.

She looked up from the wrist pressed to her bloodied mouth as they closed in on her with a frightened, doe-eyed expression. The corpse shifted off her lap, dropping to the floor with a solid _thud_.

“I can explain,” she said.

Spike stepped forward menacingly, stake brandished, shaking his head in disgust.

He cuffed her upside the head. “ _Groupies_? Probably riddled with dope—did I teach you _nothing_?”

Harmony shook off her gameface and held up her hands defensively. “Sammy said they were clean!”

Spike scoffed openly. “I can smell the blow in ‘em from here, you vapid, vampiric cow.”

Harmony hung her head with a wicked little smile. “It makes my lips tingly.”

At this point, Xander intervened. He pulled the stake from his pocket and with one hand on her throat held the point to her insufficiently covered chest which he was not admiring, just noticing his relative proximity to naked boob and had she been that stacked in High School? Because seriously those breasts didn’t look a day over eighteen—

“ _Xander_!” Spike barked, scandalized. “Stop ogling my ex!”

Xander flushed in horror. His voice cracked. “I—I wasn’t! Just…getting ready to plow—I mean PUMP! Pump her for infor—oh fuck. _Harmony_ ,” Xander gave up, gripping the stake for dear life. “Take back the curse on Spike, _now_!”

Several things happened at once. Xander felt himself pulled off of Harmony by a game faced Spike. Angel took up Xander’s position and began threatening her in a voice too low to hear, but the effect was impressive. Her eyes became very wide, her lip wobbled and gradually tears began to course down her face.

Angel smiled. Xander shivered. Then Spike’s very angry face filled his vision and he shivered for a very different reason. Or possibly the same one. Xander was willing to accept he might have a kink or two yet unexplored.

“ _Xander_ ,” Spike began threateningly, “We need to talk. _Now_.”

Xander repressed the urge to beg and allowed himself to be dragged off into the men’s room.  
“Boss, it’s the truth,” Harmony said, sobbingly. “The steno pool had the tickets and they said I’d been doing such a good job I deserved some time off! I don’t know anything about a curse! I swear!”

Angel growled and let Wesley pull him off of Harmony’s cowering form. “I believe she’s being truthful, Angel.”

Angel didn’t calm down. “I know.” Wesley appeared confused for a moment before Angel continued, oblivious to his audience, “Just drags him off to the can in the middle of an interrogation…no respect for my authority…just who does he think he is? You know, he used to look at _me_ like that! How dare the boy flaunt him in my face? I ought to—”

But Wesley never found out what Angel thought he ought to do about his unrequited lust for his grandchilde. Wesley was getting tired of competing with Spike for Angel’s attention and decided to take matters into his own hands, so to speak.

“Harmony, go wait in the car. Whoever is behind this is likely close by.”

She complied eagerly. Wes turned thoughtfully to the small mountain of cocaine on the table. Without removing his eyes from Angel he picked up the razorblade thoughtfully provided by their absent host and tapped out a line on the mirrored tabletop. It didn’t burn as much as he remembered. He pressed his lips together thoughtfully and met Angels dilated gaze.

“Tingly,” he commented with an idly smoldering look for his lover.

Meanwhile, Spike had Xander backed against the men’s room door.

“What’d you mean by feeling up that dozy twat right in front of me?” He demanded, angrily.

Xander, wide eyed, replied, “Nothing!”

Spike growled and pressed forward. “Don’t _lie_ to me.”

Xander gulped, suddenly wondering when he’d gotten over his head. “I couldn’t help it, Spike!”

With a pained cry Spike flipped Xander around and pushed his face into the door. Xander let out a muffled “Ooof” and Spike pressed the full length of his body up against Xander’s. With obvious effort and some interesting movements, Spike’s mouth was directly against his ear when he said, “I. Don’t. _Share_.”

Xander whimpered as he felt Spike grinding against his ass, and yes, _yes_ , he was a kinky bastard that this was getting him off but _fuck_ if Spike stopped now—

“Please,” Xander begged breathlessly.

A moment’s pause, and then, “S’right,” Spike muttered, shoving his pants down roughly. “Can’t get enough of me, can you.”

Xander almost laughed at the bravado in Spike’s voice until he felt Spike’s fingers breaching his hole and laughing was shoved down the list behind moaning, whining and thrusting back on Spike’s fingers like the desperate whore he imagined himself to look like.

For a moment, he wondered if Spike was going to just take him dry, and it spoke to how much he trusted his lover that he wasn’t considering calling a halt to things if he tried to. But there was something slippery on the cock pressed against his ass, hand soap if the smell was anything to go by, and so Xander stopped thinking and gave himself over to the pounding of a lifetime.

Spike was merciless, relentless, stroking his cock and his ego with a litany of dirty things chanted in his ear. Possessive things, loving things, angry things. The pain and the pressure of Spike’s cock stretching him gave way to transcendent pleasure as his lover stroked and pulled until Xander came with a sob and, with a last thrust, Spike filled him and they sank, gracelessly, to the floor.

They were entwined around each other in a position they would have never been able to manage any other time, Xander was sure of it, but he didn’t think for a moment of retrieving his pants or even the dubious cleanliness of the floor. As long as Spike held him like he was something precious to be guarded, Xander wasn’t letting go, either. He kissed the top of Spike’s head tenderly and snuggled further into Spike’s arms when he registered the subtle shaking of Spike’s shoulders.

“Spike?” he asked, hesitantly.

Spike sniffled tellingly, but shook his head and said nothing. Xander allowed his lover his dignity, held Spike tighter on the dingy bathroom floor and pretended not to notice.

Harmony drove the Jeep back to Mama Paloma’s, a coked up Wes and Angel in the back providing a steady stream of barely coherent and non-linear conversation. Xander almost felt sorry for her.

Almost.

Spike was quiet in the passenger seat of the Viper as he drove and despite several attempts at conversation, remained obstinately silent. Xander didn’t take it as a good sign and found the stillness unnerving. With frustration he realized he’d been around women for so long, he hardly knew how to cope with someone reticent to share their thoughts anymore. He kept waiting for the tearful confession but it never came and he realized it wasn’t going to as Spike retreated further and further inward.

Xander swerved the Viper onto the shoulder.

“Xander, what the—” Spike began.

Xander glared at him. Surprise rapidly turned to resentment as Spike looked resolutely ahead and burrowed further into the seat.

“What’s wrong,” Xander asked. “Was it Harmony?”

Spike snorted and glowered at the dashboard. “You’re a fool.”

Xander was taken aback somewhat. “I’m not the one sulking post coitus.”

The answering glare told Xander exactly what Spike thought of his argument and it wasn’t much. “You should leave.”

Xander was getting angry. “Okay, back it up. What the fuck did I do wrong? Are you looking for an apology? I’m sorry I stared at Harmony’s tits, okay? Jesus—”

Spike was looking agitated and angry by turns. “Wasn’t looking for anything.”

“Well then what the fuck do you want from me?”

“Nothing!” Spike replied, voice anguished. “I want…fuck what I want. You need to get away from me before—” Spike choked up.

Xander noticed his hand beginning to shake again. “Before what,” Xander asked quietly.

With a cry, Spike launched himself over the parking break and into Xander’s arms, sobbing violently. Xander held him, muttering nonsense as Spike wept bitterly, too surprised, to say anything usefully profound. He caught a snippet of what Spike was saying as he cried.

“…Weren’t even…wasn’t even jealous.”

“You weren’t jealous of me?” Xander tried to clarify.

Spike pulled back and blearily looked up at him. With a rueful smile he said, “Wasn’t jealous of Harmony. Sort of when it all clicked for me, y’know? Didn’t think anyone’d ever love me like you do, an’ it’s terrible. Loving like that? I don’t want that for you.”

Xander smiled against his better judgment. “You’re trying to protect me from loving you?”

Spike didn’t return his smile. “M’not getting better, pet. Loving someone mad—it’s a burden I don’t want for you. I know what I’m talking about and I think you’d be better off if you weren’t around when I finally—y’know.” Spike mimed something meant to indicate insanity.

Xander’s heart sank. “This isn’t like you and Dru.”

“I loved her with everything in me, Xan. An’ we had some good days, but you’ll never know how bad those bad days were, when she didn’t even know me, when she didn’t—didn’t love me—”

“Spike, _stop_ ,” Xander interrupted. He waited until Spike met his eyes before he said, “This won’t be like that.”

“But how can you be—”

Xander cut him off with a look. “This won’t be like that because you’re in this as deep as I am. You’re never going to forget me. And you’re never going to stop loving me. And as long as I have that, nothing else matters.”

Spike sobbed his relief on Xander’s shoulder and Xander held him, promising everything and saying nothing.

As darkness fell over the desert, the Viper pulled back onto the highway, neither man aware of the eyes that had been watching their exchange the entire time.


	8. Chapter 8

**Title:** The Curse of Spike's Ass  
 **Authors:**   and    
 **Chapter:** 8/?  
 **Pairing:** Spike/Xander  
 **Rating:** NC-17 for language and a kinky curse   
 **Disclaimer:** We're not Joss  
 **Warnings:** None so far.  
 **Summary:** Sequel to [El Cuento del Bucanero y del Vampiro](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=El%20Cuento%20del%20Bucanero%20y%20del%20Vampiro&filter=all). Beautiful banner by  .

Previous chapters [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=The%20Curse%20of%20Spike%27s%20Ass&filter=all).

  


[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/000atwh4/)  
---  
  
** Numero Ocho **

It was quite possibly the most miserable drive Spike had ever undertaken. The only saving grace—and it was a big one, he had to admit—was that Harmony was crammed in the Jeep with the pouf and the Watcher, and Spike and Xander had the Viper to themselves. It was small consolation, though.

When they arrived at her house, Mama Paloma had greeted them all with a sad smile and a tray of hot chocolate, as if she knew that their quest had turned up nothing except a dozy blonde vampire. She’d shooed Angel and Wes out to the yard to sober up, and sat down on the couch next to Harmony. Within minutes Harmony was sobbing out her life—and unlife—story into Mama’s shoulder, while Mama stroked her hair and shot Spike an occasional stern look.

Xander seemed content to sip at his cocoa. But it had been too long since they’d last shagged, and Spike couldn’t sit still. He had paced and fidgeted and then finally grabbed Xander’s arm and hauled him into the bedroom for a fast and desperate fuck. When they’d both come, and they were sitting on the bed trying to find their breath, Xander looked at Spike with a dazed, slightly glassy eye. “If I’d had a clue when I was 17 that I’d someday get to have this much sex, I’d have run faster from all those demons.”

Shortly afterward, they’d all left for LA, not much wiser for their travels.

At first, Spike had insisted on driving. But although Mama’s special tea had taken a bit of the edge off his need, it was like turning an oven from broil to 500 degrees. He was still burning. He couldn’t concentrate on the road—couldn’t even sit still well enough to drive properly. After several miles during which Xander clenched his fingers so tightly on the dashboard that his knuckles were white and the plastic nearly cracked, Spike pulled over. “You drive,” he said. Xander nodded eagerly.

But they weren’t much safer with Spike as passenger, as it turned out. Yeah, he didn’t have to keep his mind on the highway, but now his hands were free, and he couldn’t stop himself from unbuttoning his trousers and pulling out his cock—had the damned thing _ever_ not been hard?—and wanking furiously. Which wouldn’t have been so bad, except Xander apparently found the whole thing rather distracting. After the third time he nearly ran them off the road, he begged Spike to stop, but Spike couldn’t, at least not for very long.

“Just sodding dust me,” Spike moaned.

“I think we’ll go for a more bondagey solution,” Xander said. He took the next exit and pulled into a dark car park. He cut the engine and rushed around to the passenger side, then yanked the door open. He bent—awkwardly—and gave Spike a quick and efficient blow-job and, while Spike floated in a brief post-orgasmic haze, he produced a pair of handcuffs and locked Spike’s hands behind his back.

“What the bloody hell?” Spike sputtered.

Xander smirked. “Mama Paloma gave ‘em to me, while you were in the kitchen, scavenging for blood. I don’t even want to know why she had them, but she says they’re vamp-proof.”

Spike gave them an experimental tug. When they didn’t give, he tried harder, but they held fast. “’S not bloody fair,” he said.

Xander patted his shoulder. “We’ll get our problem figured out, and then we can use the cuffs in a much more fun way.”

Spike sighed and slumped in his seat, as Xander tucked Spike’s cock back into his jeans and zipped him up and gave him a peck on the cheek.

For the rest of the journey, Xander tried to distract him by singing. Loudly.

As they drove, Spike developed a creepy-crawly feeling on the back of his neck, as if someone were stalking him. Perhaps it was just another side-effect of the curse. In any case, he didn’t say anything about it to Xander, who already had enough to worry about.

Angel and crew arrived at the Hyperion before Spike and Xander did, so the gawking contingent was waiting for them. When Rupert and Fred approached Spike with a certain glint of clinical excitement in their eyes and ominous instruments clutched in their hands, Spike had to resist the urge to hide behind Xander. But Xander understood, because he wrapped an arm tightly around Spike’s waist and announced, “We’re going upstairs. Do not disturb, unless you figure out who did the hex.”

Angel stepped closer, his mouth open as if he were going to say something, but Xander growled at him—quite nicely—and dragged Spike away.

***

It was a nice suite. The furniture was expensive but comfortable and not showy, the colors were rich reds and deep navies, and the feeling of the place was timeless and classic. It was loads better than most of the places Spike had spent the last century and a half.

Spike hated it.

It wasn’t the room’s fault, of course, but the fact that despite the pretty fabrics and the big telly and the bathtub with the Jacuzzi jets, it was a cage. Xander tried to distract him with shagging and videos and gallons of Mama’s tea and more shagging. He even asked about Spike’s life and unlife and managed not to flinch at the bloodier tales. It was brilliant to have a willing audience for a change. But still Spike was restless and miserable. 

He tried to leave the suite a few times. But then he’d find himself facing the others. It didn’t bother him that the pouf got twisted up in knots of lust every time he saw Spike. That was rather funny, actually. But then Rupert and Fred would come after him, or Gunn would take one look and find an excuse to abruptly leave, or Buffy would get that look on her face like she was considering staking him to end the temptation. And Wes—well, the speculative way he eyed Spike made Spike more than a bit uneasy. Even Red appeared one evening from whatever astral plane her new coven was at on holiday, gave Spike’s arse a series of longing looks while muttering “Gay, now,” to herself, and then poofed away.

A week after they’d returned from Mexico, Spike had a tantrum, screaming out of frustration and rage, kicking at the furniture, heaving the television against the wall, where it exploded in a million bits of plastic and glass. Then he fell to his knees. The debris cut right through the fabric of his jeans, cutting his knees to shreds, but he didn’t bloody care, and he sobbed and sobbed.

Xander crouched next to him and folded Spike in his arms, and wouldn’t allow Spike to dislodge him.

“You have to get away from me, love,” Spike cried.

“We’ve been through this already. I’m not fucking fragile, Spike. I can deal with a little crazy.”

Spike shook his head, rubbing his forehead into Xander’s shoulder. “I’m going to hurt you.”

“No, you’re not. I mean, okay, you kinda did a number on the TV and Angel would probably be really pissed at you if he wasn’t so busy trying to get into your pants. But I’m not a TV, and I trust you, Spike. I trust you.”

Spike sniffled and wondered whether the sodding curse was turning him into a big girl’s blouse as well.

Xander helped him to his feet. He led him into the bathroom and peeled off Spike’s jeans, then sat Spike on the side of the bath so Xander could pick all the bits of glass out of Spike’s knees. When he was finished, he kissed each of the knees, then moved his kisses against Spike’s inner thighs and then onto Spike’s bollocks and ever-hungry cock. Spike came with a sigh this time. He felt weary and drained.

After Spike was dressed again, Xander sat next to him on the bed and they leaned against one another. “You know, I was thinking,” Xander said.

“Dangerous.”

Xander slapped him lightly on one leg. “I was thinking about Harmony.”

Spike frowned. “Knew you’d be dreaming of those tits.”

“Well, they are exceptionally nice tits. But I wouldn’t trade my vamp boyfriend for all the tits in China.” He squeezed Spike tightly. “Anyway, I was thinking about what she said, how they gave her the tickets to Cabo ‘cause she was doing such a great job at work. Now, maybe Harmony has some talents I’m completely unaware of, but does it really seem all that likely that she was such a steno pool superstar?”

Spike turned his head and looked at his lover with astonishment. 

***

“But it’s a really great place!” Harmony sniffled. “It doesn’t have some of the fringe bennies I was getting at W & H, but since _someone_ went and ruined a perfectly good evil law firm”—she glared at everyone in the lobby in general, and especially at Angel—“I had to work somewhere, and I’ve been happy there.”

“Yes, we understand that,” Wesley said. “That’s not the point. Why were you given the holiday in Mexico?”

“It was a bonus. We got a new boss and he said he wanted to reward a job well done. And also, I think he kinda has a crush on me. All the way since high school.”

It was Buffy who stepped forward first. “High school?”

“Yeah. I don’t remember him, but then he really wasn’t in my league. I remember his stupid brother, though.” She made a face. “What a geek. He asked me to the prom, can you believe it? As if I’d go to the prom with Tucker Wells!”

  



	9. Chapter 9

From the revelation of Andrew as the mastermind behind Spike’s curse, to Spike’s deteriorating condition, Xander became as one possessed.

He stood stoically in the lobby with the others, in various states of distress. Both Angel and Fred seemed to be worse for Spike’s relative proximity, Wes and Giles less so, but he was attributing that primarily to their stiff upper lips.

Xander refused to speculate on the stiffness of any other part of the Watchers’ anatomy.

“Not enough therapy in the world,” he muttered to himself.

“What was that?” Giles asked.

“Nothing,” Xander covered. “Do we know where Andrew is now?”

Giles reached for a dossier on the desk. “He should have reported to Faith in Cleveland last week but he never arrived.”

Wes stepped forward. “I believe it’s probable that he’s remained close. If he’s invested in your suffering resulting from the curse, he’d likely wish to bear witness to it.”

Xander nodded in agreement. “Yeah, there’s just one problem with that—I didn’t _do_ anything to the little twerp!”

“Um, Xander,” Willow began hesitantly, breaking her hushed confab with Buffy and Gunn. “He’s had a major crush on both of you for two years. Not that I think what he’s doing is right! But, um, I think he might feel a little, y’know, scorned.”

Xander’s eyebrows introduced themselves to his hairline. “ _Scorned_? My boyfriend is upstairs, slowly and painfully going mad, I haven’t slept in _two days_ and he’s pissed because he’s got a _crush_? I am going to MURDER the little shit! Where the fuck is he?”

Buffy’s hand on his arm drew his attention. “Nobody is killing anybody.”

Xander shook off her hand and glared down at her. “The hell I’m not! You’re not really going to let him get away with—”

“Oh, he’s not getting away with anything. And you are more than welcome to introduce him to thirty-one flavors of pain for what he’s done to you and Spike. Heck, I’ll hold him down for you. But we don’t deal death to the stupid and morally ambiguous.”

Gunn mumbled something about shrinking the dating pool.

Xander glared at him.

“Xander, I’ll perform the spell to find Mister Wells’ location.” Wesley offered. “If you’re going to be otherwise occupied in seeing to his capture and punishment, perhaps you ought to take this time to see to Spike. I don’t imagine he’s going to be well enough to leave again at this point.”

The reminder of Spike’s misery bled the aggression right out of him and bone-weary exhaustion took its place. He sighed. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. Buff, you think you can throw together a bag of toys to take to Andrew? Maybe some small hooks, some of the splintered stakes? I don’t know, get Angel to help you. He’s a creative sadist.”

Buffy smirked. “Sure Xan. Go kiss your vampire better.”

Xander nodded and trudged up the stairs to their suite. As he climbed the stairs he realized if he got into bed, he was going to be sawing logs before he could even take the edge off Spike’s ardor. He turned back and called out to Willow. “Wills? Think I could get a little pick-me-up?”

Willow’s smiled. “What kind? Six pack of Red Bull or little blue pill?”

Xander sputtered. It was a sad day when his Willow was the one making him blush. “The first one, thanks,” he told her in tones that said he wasn’t remotely thankful for the insinuation.

She giggled and wiggled her witchy fingers at him. He felt the power surge trickle into his skin like tiny worms burrowing into his bones. It was icky, but damn if he didn’t feel like he could go three rounds with Spike and still have a little left over to shove something less fun up Andrew’s ass.

With a determined set of his jaw, Xander stalked off to try and satisfy Spike’s libido. It was a tough job, but someone had to do it.

 

Spike was tied to the bed, loosely clothed and spread eagled. He was writhing against his bonds but hadn’t yet reached the full desperation of withdrawal from Mama Paloma’s tisane of vitex, hops, valerian, skullcap and marjoram. Dawn was putting together another batch but tracking down the herbs in quantity sufficient to have any effect on Spike’s metabolism was proving difficult.

“Hey,” Xander announced himself, quietly shutting the door behind him.

Spike responded with a moan, arching his back.

Xander sighed and moved toward the bed. Spike looked fevered. Xander pressed his palm to Spike’s cheek and found it was clammy. Spike turned into his touch though, and Xander let his thumb caress his cheekbone before he withdrew to release the knots binding his wrists and ankles. Immediately Spike’s hand flew to his engorged member, wanking furiously.

“We’re going to take care of that but you’re going to rub yourself raw if you keep going,” Xander warned.

Spike bit his lip and managed to slow his stroke, barely. “Xan, it _hurts_ ,” he whimpered.

Xander slicked his fingers as quickly as he could using the industrial sized bottle of lube thoughtfully placed on the nightstand, and prepared himself as thoroughly as he was able. Spike’s groans accompanied each scissoring thrust of Xander’s fingers but he wasn’t interested in drawing it out any longer than was strictly necessary.

Panting slightly, Xander crawled across the bed to Spike and with a tender kiss, allowed his lover to take him as he needed.

With a feral growl, Xander was planted face first into the bed. Ordinarily he would have laughed, expecting Spike was feeling playful. The first press of fang against his shoulder, however, told him they were playing a different game entirely.

Spike was going to fuck him and hard. Xander was going to feel it for a good long time.

With that in mind, Xander was suddenly hard and leaking, and in perfect concert he ground his cock into the mattress as Spike rammed himself home inside Xander’s body.

Two hours later, sticky with sweat, semen and lube, Spike was dazed and again fastened to the headboard. Xander walked, bowlegged, to the door of the suite, trying to ignore the twinges of pain from his overworked and underpaid ass, and gratefully discovered a tea tray with Spike’s medicinal potion and a warm carafe of blood was laid on the floor outside.

There was also, he noted with irritation, a tube of Preparation H, lovingly graced with a bow. Xander thought of chucking it down the stairs for a moment, then, defeatedly, placed it back on the tray. When Spike had been fed, dosed, soothed, reassured and kissed to Xander’s satisfaction, he availed himself of the butt cream, all the while comprising new and more inventive uses for splintered balsa wood and Andrew’s more vulnerable bodily tissues.

Dressed, and with a last, longing look back at his bound and resting lover, Xander left their rooms to find the others with what could only be described as a vengeful expression. Righteous fury burned in his eyes, his fists clenched in determination.

Buffy laughed when she saw him.

Apparently, all the butt cream in the world couldn’t help you affect a purposeful stride when you’ve had your ass reamed for two straight hours.

Xander gave up his dignity and bowleggedly followed Buffy to her car.


	10. Chapter 10

**Title:** The Curse of Spike's Ass  
 **Authors:**   and    
 **Chapter:** 10/?  
 **Pairing:** Spike/Xander  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Disclaimer:** We're not Joss  
 **Summary:** Sequel to [El Cuento del Bucanero y del Vampiro](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=El%20Cuento%20del%20Bucanero%20y%20del%20Vampiro&filter=all). Beautiful banner by .

Previous parts [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=The%20Curse%20of%20Spike%27s%20Ass&filter=all).

  
  


[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/000atwh4/)  
---  
  
** Diez **

Somehow, it turned into a field trip. Buffy and Willow were in the front seat of her SUV, while Xander was jammed in the back with Angel and Wesley. Gunn and Fred and Giles and Dawn had all made noises about going, too, but they didn’t need to show up with a fucking caravan, and anyway, someone had to stay home and mind the store. Sure, they only planned to be gone long enough to torture that little shit Andrew into millions of pain-filled bits, but given their track records, three apocalypses could happen in that time.

Xander was packed thigh-to-thigh with Angel, who had his arms crossed on his chest and an especially big scowl on his face. Wesley looked a little pissy. Xander had the impression that Spike’s predicament was hard on their relationship. He wondered whether it was possible to find gay demon/human couples counseling. Probably. This was LA, after all.

Traffic was still heavy, and, although Andrew was holed up not very far away, it took forever to get there. Xander tapped his fingers on his leg impatiently, picturing his vampire writhing miserably in his bonds. That wasn’t right. Spike should only writhe happily in bonds.

Buffy followed Wes’s directions, until finally they pulled into the driveway of the Sleep Tite Motel. It was an old place, two floors in a U-shape surrounding the lot, in the middle of a charming neighborhood full of liquor stores, thrift shops, check cashing joints, and smog check places. As they drove by the brightly-lit office, Xander could see a man with a mullet and very few teeth sitting behind the desk, watching them suspiciously. Buffy stopped the SUV in the middle of the lot. “So? Where to?”

Wes peered into something that looked like a sunglass lens, if sunglass lenses came in sparkly blue. “Room 113.”

As soon as he said it, Xander launched himself from the vehicle. He didn’t wait to see if the others were behind him, but instead ran across the cracked blacktop towards the yellow door marked “11”. He assumed the three was missing, because it was between 112 and 114, and the ones were crooked.

Xander didn’t knock. He tried the knob, but when it didn’t turn, he gave the door a savage kick. It was a cheap door anyway; somebody had hung a hollow-core door here even though they were intended for interior use only. _He_ would never have done anything that stupid. But now it came in handy, because the thing splintered easily, so that the only thing holding it in place was the chain lock. Also sub-par, and it parted with a second kick.

The room smelled of cleaning fluids, potpourri, and Pizza Hut. There was stuff all over the floor—suitcases, clothing, DVD cases. Andrew must have been sitting on the unmade bed, watching TV, but he had just enough time to squeak and scramble away towards the bathroom. He didn’t make it. Xander slammed into him with all his weight and momentum, crashing Andrew up against one dingy wall with a very satisfying thud. All the air whooshed out of Andrew’s lungs at once.

“Take it back! Take it back, you son of a bitch! Take it back before I strangle you with your own dick.”

Andrew’s eyes bugged from the sockets and he made a hoarse croaking noise.

“No arguing, asshole!” Xander screamed in his face.

“Um, Xan? I think if you want him to talk he needs to be able to breathe. I’m just saying,” said Willow. The rest of the entourage must have caught up with him.

Xander eased up on his grip around Andrew’s neck. A little. Andrew drew in a deep, whooping breath. “My friends!” he said. “And…guests. Um, you guys want something to drink? I could go to the machine and get us some Cokes. Icy cold.”

Xander growled. 

“Invite me in.” That was Angel. Xander turned and saw that Angel was standing in the open doorway looking supremely frustrated.

Andrew’s eyes grew even wider. “That’s a vampyre! That’s a vampyre and he’s not Spike. Oh! That’s Angelus! The original souled vampyre himself!”

“Angel,” snarled the vampyre—uh, vampire in question.

Xander shook Andrew so hard his teeth rattled. “Forget about Angel, asswipe. Fix Spike!”

Even Spike could pull off a look of faux innocence better than Andrew. “Fix Spike? I don’t know what you mean, Xander.”

Buffy stepped up very close behind Xander. He could see her out of the corner of his eye, her face set in that look that had scared off legions of demons. “We know what you did to him. We gave you a second chance after the whole Jonathon thing—we let you prove the mending of your ways. Vengeance cursing? So not mended.”

Andrew looked from one of them to the next. “Vengeance cursing? Now, why would I do something so underhanded? Effective, but underhanded.”

If Xander were a vampire, he would be in game face right now, his fangs slowly sinking into Andrew’s throat. Instead, he put his face inches from Andrew’s and fought to keep his voice steady. “Fix it _now_.”

“Why would I curse Spike? Spike is my friend. And he’s strong and handsome and heroic and why would I want to curse someone like that? Especially when you two are so happy together, living your carefree life in M é xico.”

“Buffy, hook me up,” Xander said.

“One step ahead of you, Xan.” 

He reached out with the hand that wasn’t around Andrew’s neck and she plopped something heavy and metal in it. He glanced quickly at it. “You know,” he said to Andrew, “Spike earned his nickname a long time ago. But I have a nickname now, too—El Bucanero. And I figure with the name and the patch and all, I should use this instead.” He waved the object in front of Andrew’s face. It was a cabin hook, the kind used to latch doors. Not very sharp, really, but fairly thick. Xander held it very close to Andrew’s eye. “I bet this would hurt even more than a thumb.”

“Xander! Mi compadre! Why don’t we all just calm down a little and I’ll get us those Cokes and—“

Every second wasted here was another second of agony for Spike. Xander moved the hook even closer, until only the tiniest of spaces separated the pointed end from Andrew’s cornea.

And then someone tapped his shoulder. “Xan? Maybe try these instead.”

He turned his head around, intending to tell Willow he was completely out of patience. But then he saw what she had in her hands. He let the hook fall to the floor and let go of Andrew so abruptly that the creep almost fell.

Xander grabbed one of the items from Willow’s hands and viciously crunched it to bits.

“No!” Andrew wailed. “That was an original classic phaser. The limited edition one, numbered 28 of only 100!”

Honestly, Xander felt kind of bad about destroying it himself. But it was for Spike, he reminded himself, and he took another item from Willow.

“No!” Andrew screamed again. He tried to lunge forward and grab it, but Buffy held him back against the wall with one small hand planted against his chest.

Xander held the thing up. “Nice. Signed by Michael Dorn, LeVar Burton, _and_ Brent Spiner.” He ripped the photo in half once and then again, and Andrew screamed like he’d been gutted. “Now let’s see what we’ve got.”

Willow handed him the next item. It was a model of the USS Enterprise in 1/350 scale, carefully accurate in every tiny detail. “Wow. I bet this took a long time to build. Only takes a second to smash, though.”

“Wait! Wait wait wait!” Andrew wiggled frantically but ineffectively. “I’ll talk! Please not the Enterprise!”

Xander narrowed his eye, but he also put the model down on the bed. It would be a shame to ruin it unnecessarily. “Okay, talk. Unwish. Now.”

Andrew looked like he might be about to cry. Good. “I’ll unwish,” he said in a wobbly voice.

“No time like the present,” Buffy said, pulling a stake from her pocket and aiming it over his chest.

Andrew squared his chin a little. “I’ll revoke my wish, and Xander and Spike can once again engage in normal, carnal bliss. But I want something, too.”

Xander glanced meaningfully at the Enterprise. “Not really in a position to negotiate right now, Andy.”

“But I am! Do what I ask or I’ll make the wish irrevocable.”

Xander turned and looked at Wesley. “Can he do that?”

Wes thought, then shrugged. “I’m not certain. Perhaps.”

“Hah!” said Andrew. “See? So you give me what I want, I give you what you want. A little quid pro quo, Xander.”

Xander couldn’t stand this idiocy any longer. He just wanted to be home—wherever that was—in Spike's arms, comfortable and safe and sated and sleepy. “What?” he ground out through gritted teeth.

Andrew took a deep breath and let it out. “I want Spike to sire me. I want to be a vampyre, too.”

  
  



	11. Chapter 11

Xander sat on the edge of his lover’s bed. Spike was unconscious, drugged, to spare him the now excruciating pain of constant arousal.

They’d bound Andrew and taken him with them back to the Hyperion. Xander wouldn’t make this decision for Spike without consulting him, but time was short. Possibly even too late, if he couldn’t rouse him to lucidity.

“It’s not like it’s a surprise, is it?” He asked Spike softly, knowing there wouldn’t be an answer. “He’s never been big with the positive self image. I guess the two of us getting together was a big…thing…for him or something. He was on suicide watch for a little while back in Iowa. I didn’t know.”

Xander watched Spike sleep, unmoving and his eyes drifted to the bedside table where Spike’s journal lay carelessly propped. He was usually so paranoid about anyone reading his poetry he kept it under lock and key. Xander frowned. Either Spike had stirred and been in enough presence of mind to write or he’d left it for him deliberately.

There was no pen. Xander flipped it over and observed the page it was open to. There was a single line in Spike’s carefully measured script.

 _When God wanted to punish someone, he answered their prayers._

Xander looked sharply up from the book to the recumbent vampire, still sleeping. “What the hell does _that_ mean?” He asked.

Was Spike referring to himself in some way? This didn’t seem like anything he could or would have wished for. Was he thinking of Andrew?

“So, what, we give him what he wants?” Xander demanded angrily. Hot jealous rage filled him at the thought. Spike was _his_ , goddammit, and he was Spike’s—Spike’s to bite and love and protect and _Not. Fucking. Andrew!_

Xander took a deep breath and sank onto the mattress beside Spike, pulling him protectively against his chest and breathing in his scent for a count of ten. It wasn’t up to him alone to decide. And Spike seemed to have indicated his decision. “Fine. Turn him,” he said, resistantly. “But you _won’t_ fuck him. Let Angel train the bastard. Let him work the asswipe over the way he…” Xander trailed off. “The way he trained you. If he wants to be like you, then _let_ him. And if he can’t be remade like you were, then he can unlive with the knowledge that he’s still a deluded waste of skin in death.”

It was pretty diabolical, actually. Xander kissed the top of Spike’s head tenderly and tucked him back in before rushing off to find Andrew.

 

Angel had Andrew chained to a chair in one moldy, water stained suite in the damaged part of the hotel, guarded by a bored looking junior Slayer snapping her gum.

“Why don’t you see if the others are leaving on patrol soon. I need a word with the prisoner,” Xander told the girl, who brightened instantly and was down the hall at a clip before he’d even finished talking. He shook his head.

And people said _he_ had ADD.

The door creaked open. Andrew watched him warily as Xander casually approached. “He’ll do it. Rescind the wish.” Andrew clenched his jaw and raised his chin petulantly. “Not until I’m a Vampire, El Capitan.”

Xander resisted the impulse to roll his eyes and shook his head. “Spike’s too far gone to do it otherwise. Unless you want Angelus…” He offered with all the appearance of innocence. Andrew’s eyes widened and he shook his head violently. “No! It has to be Spike!”

Something inside Xander growled it’s displeasure. He ignored it. “Then you’d better lift the curse so Spike can do the job. It’d sure be a shame if you came back…wrong.”

Andrew swallowed hard and averted his eyes before nodding minutely in acceptance.

 

Xander posted Willow with Andrew to call when the curse was lifted. Xander wanted to be at Spike’s side.

Two things happened at once. His phone vibrated, and Spike awoke with a gasp from his magically induced coma, pulling against his bonds, his eyes searching wildly before they landed on Xander who was struggling to untie him from the bed while he thrashed.

“Xan,” he croaked out, voice hoarse. Xander finished untying the remaining wrist and gathered Spike into his arms with a little half sob, half sigh of relief. “Is it over?” Spike asked. “The curse—is it gone?”

Xander smiled against Spike’s chest. “Well, let’s see. Do you feel like having sex?”

Spike groaned. “I can’t believe I’m saying it, but _no_. My tackle feels like it’s been beaten to a pulp.”

Xander smiled up at him. “I think you’re cured.”

Spike sighed happily and tightened his arms around Xander’s shoulders. “So I reckon the prig wanted something,” he prompted. Xander forced down the wellspring of rage and tightened his grip on Spike. Spike snorted. “Must be a doozy.”

“You wanted me to give him what he wanted, right? It’s what you meant…that thing about answered prayers, right?” He asked, an edge of desperation in his voice.

Spike looked down at him concernedly. “You didn’t agree to fuck him, did you?”

“What? No!”

“Because, you’re _mine_ , and I’m not sharin’, no matter _what_ that little shite thinks.”

Xander choked back a sob. “Oh, god, I can’t do it.”

Spike’s hand came to rest in his hair, petting him. “Xan, _Xander_ , stop, love. Whatever it is, we’ll figure something out, all right?”

Xan wiped his face angrily on his sleeve. “He wants you to turn him.”

Spike nodded. “Thought it might come to that. An’ you don’t like the idea I take it? Why?”

Xander’s eyes widened incredulously. He pulled back, sitting up. “ _Why_? You think I want you touching him? _Biting_ him?!”

Spike watched Xander, his head cocked to the side. “It bothers you that much. I reckon it’ll be far more unpleasant for him than he realizes.”

“It’s never unpleasant when you bite me,” Xander confessed, softly. It was the most intimate thing they shared, he thought. More than the sex sometimes, incredible as that was. He was feeding his lover—sustaining his existence. Not _totally_ , obviously, but it still _meant_ something, didn’t it?

“Won’t be like with us,” Spike tried to explain. “There’s no love or affection there. I’m damn well not interested in making it good for him, if that’s what you’re concerned about.”

Xander huffed. “I know that, but, there’s still that connection. And you get hard from feeding. I don’t like that it’s not going to be me there. I don’t want him touching you—”

“ _Xander_ ,” Spike stopped him. “Won’t be him I’ll be thinking of if I turn the nonce and drain him dry. An’ if drinking makes me hard, won’t be because of anything to do with him. It’ll be the thought that I’m taking the pound of flesh for his sins against _my_ boy. It’ll be the thought of you, laid out waiting for me in our bed, ready to take me, hard and wanting, the minute his body drops cold to the ground. Your blood chasing the taste of his weakness from my mouth, your love filling me with life and sunlight,” he finished.

Xander was suddenly _so fucking hard_. “Are you _sure_ you don’t feel like sex?”

Spike let out a bark of laughter. “Soon pet. Reckon we’d best get this done and over with first. But,” he added in a slow, husky tone, “I meant what I said. Want you here, waiting for me when I get back, yeah? Think we both might have some…tension to work off.”

Xander’s phone vibrated against his leg and he spared a lascivious look for Spike before flipping it open.

“ _Did it work?_ ” Willow asked.

“Yeah, Wills, it worked.”

“ _Oh, good! So um, you tested everything…_ ”

Xander rolled his eyes. “Not yet, kinda want to get things squared away first.”

“ _Oh! Well, that’s smart I guess. So, um, I don’t want to rush you or anything but—_ ”

His mood darkened slightly at the reminder. He hated being beholden to the bastard who did this to Spike. “Yeah, he’ll be down. Give the guy a break, he’s been through hell the last few weeks.”

“ _He’s not the only one, Xander. Are you okay?_ ”

He sighed out a long breath, anger dissipating in the face of her concern. “Yeah, I just want this over with. Spike will be there soon, okay?”

“ _Okay, and Xander?_ ”

“Yeah?”

“ _It’ll be okay. Spike loves you. And he’s not the only one._ ”

Spike grinned at him, knowingly. Xander allowed a small smile of his own to answer it. “Right back at you.”

He flipped the phone closed and took four long steps to bring him within grabbing distance of Spike’s lapels. He crushed Spike’s mouth to his in a demanding kiss.

“Repeat after me: I Spike, will turn Andrew Wells, but I promise I won’t like it.”

Spike’s eyebrow rose. “I Spike, will turn Andrew Wells, but I _promise_ I won’t enjoy it one tiny bit.”

Xander smirked. “And if I’m in any way aroused it will be because my lover bought the warming lube and I’m on a promise.”

Spike laughed at that. “And if I’m turned on one iota it will be because I’m about to be buggered senseless by my dearest love, the most caring, wonderful human I’ve ever had the pleasure of loving with the biggest damn cock I’ve ever seen in my long unlife.” This he said with a straight face.

They burst out laughing together, collapsing against each other gently for comfort and reassurance before Xander felt Spike’s resolve stiffen and pulled away.

“Back soon, love,” he said.

The door clicked shut behind him and Xander took a shuddering breath and unclenched his fists.

Time to set the mood and not think about what his lover was doing one floor below.


	12. Chapter 12

**Title:** The Curse of Spike's Ass  
 **Authors:**   and    
 **Chapter:** 12/?  
 **Pairing:** Spike/Xander  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Disclaimer:** We're not Joss  
 **Warnings:** None so far.  
 **Summary:** Sequel to [El Cuento del Bucanero y del Vampiro](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=El%20Cuento%20del%20Bucanero%20y%20del%20Vampiro&filter=all). Image by the fabulous  

  
Previous parts [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=The%20Curse%20of%20Spike%27s%20Ass&filter=all).

  
  


[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/000atwh4/)  
---  
  
** Numero Doce **

There was nothing in the world Spike wanted more than to rip out Andrew Wells’s throat. Wait. Strike that. What he wanted most in the world was for his boy to bugger him through the mattress. But tearing the little twat’s throat was a close second and Spike nearly whistled as he made his way down the stairs, because he was about to get to do both.

Andrew was chained to a chair, being watched closely by Willow and Angel and Wesley. Angel’s nostrils flared as soon as Spike entered the room, and then Angel sagged slightly against the wall. “Thank fuck,” he muttered. Spike flipped him two fingers. As if the pouf needed a curse to lust after Spike’s tight arse.

Despite the chains, Andrew bounced a bit in the chair. “I’m ready! I’m ready to become your childe, Sire.”

Spike closed the few steps between them and snarled into Andrew’s face. “If you ever call me that again I’ll turn you inside out and then dust you.”

He heard the boy swallow. “Yes, Si-uh, Spike. But I’m ready. I’m ready to become a vampyre.”

Spike growled. He would have enjoyed dragging this out, making the boy scream and beg for death before he was done. But Xander was waiting for him. So Spike shifted his face and then, without any warning or preamble, he bit. 

It wasn’t smooth and gentle, like it was when he tasted his Xander. He could get his boy so worked up that the small pain as Spike’s fangs slid in only heightened the exquisite pleasure for both of them. Now, though, he shredded Andrew’s neck, destroying the carotid so that blood spurted thickly down his throat. It was quick but messy; back in his soulless Big Bad days he usually took a bit more time with his meals.

Andrew screeched as soon as he was entered. To his credit, though, he didn’t fight Spike, but instead tilted his head away, further exposing his slightly grubby neck. The pillock truly did want to be turned, it seemed.

Spike swallowed and swallowed, and his poor, abused cock filled, but all he was thinking of was how soon he could get this over with and rush back up to Xander. In fact, he was so lost in those delicious thoughts that he nearly forgot what he was meant to be doing, until Willow said, “Spike!” and thumped him on the back. Then he pulled out his teeth and tore into his own wrist, which he pressed to Andrew’s slackening mouth. Andrew’s blood now only seeped sluggishly from the wound and Spike pressed his mouth to the gaping hole again and sucked the rest of the life out of the sagging body.

He stood up straight and looked at the others. Angel was licking his lips, at least until Wesley noticed and elbowed him hard in the side.

“What…what do we do with him now?” Willow asked.

“Bury him,” Spike said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Wesley frowned. “But burial isn’t necessary, not when one can be certain that the corpse won’t be exposed to sunlight or—“

“Bury him!” Spike barked.

Angel and Wesley exchanged a look, and then Angel nodded. Wes didn’t look too pleased about it, but he shrugged.

“How long until he…he…rises?” Willow asked.

“Two nights,” Angel said. “Maybe three.” He shot Spike a quick look. “I’ll keep an eye out for him, get him chained up as soon as he’s out. Will you be ready for him then, Willow?”

“Sure. I just need a few more supplies. I’ll get them tomorrow.”

Spike made his way to the door. “You people keep on nattering. I have things to do.” Nobody tried to stop him as he left.

He considered stopping in one of the rooms to wash up, but decided against it. He’d waited long enough already. 

When he entered the room he’d been sharing with Xander, he was very happy he hadn’t dawdled. Xan was spread-eagled on the bed, his head propped up on pillows and that little half-grin playing at the corner of his mouth. He’d shed all his clothing and even his eye patch, but he had his lucha cape wrapped around him from his chest to his upper thighs.

Spike gulped and forgot he didn’t need to breathe.

Xander’s smile grew larger. “So? Were you thinking of me?”

“Every bloody second.” Spike’s voice came out a bit hoarse.

“Then why the hesitation?” Xander tried to lift one eyebrow and failed.

“Just taking in the view.”

“Well, it gets better,” Xander said, and he drew aside the cape to reveal his cock standing proud and eager.

Spike leapt on top of him. All that warm skin felt so brilliant, and the strong heartbeat underneath him, and the heavy muscles that shifted and cushioned him, and the puffs of hot air against his cheek. Xander squeezed Spike’s denim-covered arse and Spike leaned down for a nice snog, but Xander pulled his head away as soon as their lips touched. “Ugh. You taste like Andrew,” Xander said.

Spike huffed. “I can go clean my teeth, but I’ll have to use your brush.”

Xander made a face. “No Andrew cooties on my dental hygiene equipment, please. Why don’t you just…wash it away?” And he flexed one of his pectoral muscles invitingly.

Spike didn’t have to be asked twice. He vamped out again, and this time he slipped his fangs ever-so-gently into the skin just above Xander’s right nipple, and then used his tongue to lave at the welling droplets of blood, as well as the erect nub of skin. Xander moaned and thrust his hips up against Spike’s. “You better stop or this party’s gonna be over before it begins,” Xander said.

Slightly regretfully, Spike gave one last lick and then rolled off Xander. He quickly stripped off his ruined shirt and his boots and trousers and stood, hipshot, beside the bed. “Well? Reckoned you’d be prepared.”

Xander smiled and pulled a black can with a white nozzle out from under his cape. “Prepared enough for you?”

Spike landed back on the mattress so hard he bounced. Without any additional teasing, he climbed up on all fours and waggled his arse. “Well? Get on with it. Have to make sure the tosser really sorted things.”

“If he didn’t, I’ll kill him again myself.”

Spike heard the sound of the spray can and then sighed happily as Xander’s slick finger rang up and down his crack. “Don’t be too careful, love. ‘S all right if you make me bleed a bit.” And it would be, because a hard, masterful rogering is what he craved now.

And Xander was ready to provide it, it seemed, because he slipped his finger inside Spike and spent only the most cursory time opening the passage a bit. A moment or two later, he withdrew his finger and replaced it with his cock, and Spike nearly howled in relief to finally, _finally_ have what he’d been needing so long. He immediately began to rock his hips, impaling himself as fully as possible.

But then he stopped. “What’s that?”

“Boy Butter. The warming kind. I thought it might feel kinda nice for you. If you don’t like it I can—“

“No! ‘T’s lovely. Just took me by surprise, is all. You’ve put some effort into this.”

Xander leaned down over Spike’s back and kissed the nape of his neck. “Of course I did. You’re worth it, you know.” And then he bit Spike’s shoulder, and that was the end of the talking.

Sometime later—not very long, really, because they’d both been waiting so bloody long for this—they were sticky and sated, entwined in one another’s arms. “Mind you, this doesn’t mean I won’t ever fancy topping again,” Spike said.

“We can take turns. Or flip a coin. Or do rock paper scissors. Or….”

Spike tickled the sensitive bit just under Xander’s ribcage. “You can take the cape off now, pet.”

“Yeah, okay, when I gather enough energy.”

Which might be never, Spike reckoned, judging from the way Xander was slumped against him. But then Xander tensed a bit. “What’s going to happen to Andrew?”

“Don’t bloody care. I did my part. Red’s going to stick his soul on. It’s nothing to do with us anymore.”

“No….”

Spike sighed and pushed himself up on one elbow. “What?”

“Nothing.”

Spike actually could cock one eyebrow, and he did. “I can hear you thinking, love.”

“Is that some kind of vampire power nobody’s ever told me about?”

“Nah. You’re a very loud thinker. What is it?”

Xander bit at his lip. “I, uh, kind of had this idea.” 

Spike waited.

Xander chewed his lip so hard that it bled a bit, and Spike couldn’t resist leaning over to swipe it away with his tongue. But then he pulled back and looked at his boy expectantly.

“Okay. So I had this idea for what we could do with Andrew. Something that would get him what he deserves and keep him permanently out of our hair.”

“We could dust him.”

“This is better.”

“Then why so hesitant to share, Xan?”

More lip gnawing, so that Spike was nearly ready to bite the lip off himself. Then Xander took a deep breath and let it out. He winced. “It…it involves Dracula.”

  



	13. Chapter 13

Xander outlined his plan to Spike as they soaked languidly in the eucalyptus and lime scented water of the Jacuzzi.

“Okay, so it’s not quite a Renfield gig, what with not being able to go out in the sun, but you gotta admit, he’ll be as subservient a minion as a centuries old vampire could hope for.”

Spike snorted. “Probably won’t even need to thrall the sad bastard. Those wankers deserve each other.” Xander sighed and relaxed further into the water and steam, tightening his grip around Spike's waist and pulling him back tighter against his chest. “My thought exactly.” Xander’s stomach growled. “Well, that and Chinese food. You want to try that place we passed yesterday?”

“Han’s? Yeah, why not. Got to get your strength up.”

Xander smirked. “Oh yeah? You got plans for me?”

“Mmhmm,” Spike confirmed, reaching for the loofah and buffing methodically at Xander’s feet. “Gonna get you back for those damned handcuffs.”

Xander swallowed. “Gonna chain me up?” Spike nodded. “Gonna tie me down?” Spike nodded. Xander suppressed a shiver. “How long?”

Spike paused in his buffing, as if considering and weighing his options carefully and dispassionately. “Three days, I think. For starters.”

Xander felt the blood leave his arms and drain to all points southward. “Three days?”

“Three days.”

Xander shuddered so hard some water sloshed over the side of the tub and onto the floor.

He grinned. “Promise?”

 

The scratching sound roused Angel to something more resembling consciousness as he dozed against the palm tree beside Andrew’s grave. Though others had shown concern over Spike’s adamance that Andrew be buried—six feet deep in his very own pine box—Angel understood his insistence. The boy needed to be made aware of exactly what he’d chosen for himself, and nothing really drove that lesson home quite like the trauma of clawing your way free of your own grave.

Buffy, he noted sadly, had voiced no objection either as she had unknowingly and reflexively rubbed at her fingers when she heard Spike’s pronouncement.

The scratching sound shifted to splintering and a muffled cry before the box gave way and Andrew’s voice was silenced by the grave dirt in his airway. The sound of a frantic and disoriented scramble through the loose earth and then…

Andrew’s hand shot up followed closely by a hundred and ten pounds of gasping, sputtering, terrified fledge.

Angel hauled him up by the scruff of the neck as Willow appeared holding the Orb of Thesulah and incanting the curse to restore Andrew’s soul. Andrew lurched and fought Angel’s grip, stronger for his demon, but still weak and unfed. Angel slammed him harder against the stucco, sending cracks spidering out behind him.

His soul returned as a glow suffused the young vampire and then faded, leaving him weak and shaking. Angel released him and allowed Andrew to fall to his knees before dropping into a crouch beside him. Angel bit roughly into his wrist before offering it to Andrew.

“Drink, and know your Sire,” he told him. Andrew didn’t hesitate before wrapping both arms around Angel’s forearm and drinking. He’d barely managed a mouthful before Angel disengaged him with a cuff to the back of the head. “That’s enough,” he hissed as Andrew carelessly snagged his fang as he withdrew.

“Sire?” Andrew tried, confusedly. “I—I’m _hungry_.”

“I’m not your food,” Angel spat with contempt. At that moment Wesley appeared in the courtyard. Angel’s expression softened momentarily as he watched Wesley excuse Willow who rushed gratefully back into the hotel. With barely a glance for Andrew, Angel rose and in a carefully choreographed move, pulled Wes into his arms for a deep and promising kiss, tasting the notes of bergamot from his tea as well as the flavor that was all his own. Wesley gasped slightly as Angel pulled away and it made him smile, though just a little and with his back to Andrew for only as long as it took to school his expression to what it should be. With a decisive nod from Wesley, Angel spun them around until he cradled Wes against his chest, his neck bent in offering. It was a display that had Andrew panting with hunger and desire.

“You smell that?” Angel asked him. “The blood? Waiting? The lust and that _little bit_ of fear—oh, not for me! Wes knows I’d never hurt him, but he can never quite relax until he’s felt that first _prick_ —” This, Angel underscored with a shift into game face and the slightest nick of his fang against the side of Wesley’s throat, drawing a moan from Wesley and Andrew in concert as the smell of human blood and arousal assaulted his newly heightened senses. Angel lowered his mouth and with agonizing slowness, gently pierced the arch of his lover’s neck, groaning in delight as the blood welled in his mouth.

Andrew was openly crying now. With reluctance, Angel released his fangs from Wesley’s throat with a last lick and a gentle kiss over the two small wounds. He turned to Andrew with a taunting smile.

“Delicious,” he declared it. “That connection in the blood, the taste of a life pulsing with desire and want and fear and memory—there’s nothing like it in all the world. Not that you’ll ever know of course. You see, I’m a good _vampyre_ , aren’t I Wes?”

Wesley gave a satisfied nod of agreement.

“And you are an evil. Monstrous. _Demon_. And a good _vampyre_ like myself just can’t let you go snacking on the populace willy nilly, now can I? And,” he added with cruel satisfaction, “Let’s face it, the odds of you ending up with a human lover as, well, frankly, _gorgeous_ , as Wesley or even Xander is pretty slim, isn’t it Andy?”

Andrew let out a miserable sob.

“There, there, now, here,” he soothed mockingly, picking up the container beside the door and proffering it to the huddled shape beside the wall. “Have some cow. Sorry it’s cold. Wasn’t sure when you’d wake up.”

Andrew took it and grimaced at the taste before gulping it down with ravenous desperation. Finished, he self-consciously wiped his mouth on his filthy sleeve, smearing grave dirt across his cheek and making him look even more like some sort of tragic waif. Bravely, Andrew spoke. “I could, if I wanted. I could—I could find a human that would…love me.”

Angel raised his eyebrows. This was going to be easier than he thought. “Doubtful. You know what it takes to love a human—to live next to their warmth without ever giving in to the temptation to take it all into yourself with one, little sip? Know why even Spike is a better vampire—and _always_ will be—than a little shit like you? _Control_. It’s something you have to learn, boy, and you won’t get it bawling on your knees like a scared little girl, though, I gotta admit, it’s a definite upgrade from the previous version.”

“Teach me,” Andrew asked softly.

Angel scoffed. “You’re stupid and you’re evil. That’s not a good start.”

Andrew held up his head slightly. “I—I have a soul. You gave me a soul. I’m not evil.”

“Don’t kid yourself, boy, that soul’s done more evil than your demon at the moment. But let’s just say that was the case. It’s hard to fix stupid.”

“I can l-learn,” Andrew stuttered bravely.

Angel grinned wickedly and closed the trap. “Maybe you can. Let’s find out. It took me almost fifteen years to beat the stupid out of Spike. Now, I have to admit, there weren’t as many— _options_ —back then to chose from. I used to be _really_ fond of these pear thingies—you ever see one of those in a medieval museum?”

Andrew blanched.

“But _now_ …man, humans have come up with some _ideas_ since the last time I was evil! So what do you say, shall we get started?”

Andrew looked ready to change his mind. Angel laughed to himself and hauled the boy up by his shirtfront before frog-marching him back into the hotel.

“This is going to be so much _fun_ …” he sing-songed over the accompaniment of Andrew’s terrified whimper and dragging feet.

 

Xander tucked Spike into bed at dawn and made a note to get some blood sent up. He hadn’t fed as much as he ought to have done while the curse was in effect and Spike still seemed to be running about a quart low. Xander snorted at him fussing over Spike in terms more suited to the Viper, but then again, he _was_ driving stick on two high-performance machines. He laughed at his own bad innuendo— _I crack me up_ —and snatched his letter to Dracula off the roll top desk.

Bouncing cheerily down the stairs, he found Willow in quiet conversation with Wesley over a cup of tea and a spell book. When the screaming from the suite overhead began, they didn’t even flinch and Xander’s eyes widened.

“Interesting night?” Xander asked, announcing himself. Wesley smiled serenely at him. “Angel’s beginning Andrew’s…reeducation program,” he explained.

Xander nodded. “So, what is it? The rack? Bamboo under the fingernails?”

The sound of music followed by a chorus of screaming answered his question.

 _“You know I can't smile without you  
I can't smile without you  
I can't laugh and I can't sing  
I'm finding it hard to do anything…”_

“Jesus,” Xander uttered reverently.

“He tried Neil Diamond earlier but it just wasn’t as effective,” Willow explained.

Xander nodded solemnly and held out the letter. “Here’s the missive to my Dark Prince-bator. Can you zap it to him?”

Willow smiled wryly and took the letter. “Sure. But you should really suggest he get email.”

“I’m sure Andrew will hook him up. If he survives Barry,” Xander qualified with a glance toward the ceiling.

 _“You came along just like a song  
And brightened my day  
Who would have believed that you were part of a dream…”_

Andrew’s shrill scream echoed through the lobby.

Willow and Wesley joined Xander’s thoughtful contemplation of the ceiling.

“No time to waste,” Willow decided gravely, waving her hand over the letter and elegantly poofing it to Transylvania.

“Certainly not,” Wes agreed.

Xander nodded wisely and poured himself a cup of tea.


	14. Chapter 14

**Title:** The Curse of Spike's Ass  
 **Authors:**   and    
 **Chapter:** 14/?  
 **Pairing:** Spike/Xander  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Disclaimer:** We're not Joss  
 **Warnings:** None so far.  
 **Summary:** Sequel to [El Cuento del Bucanero y del Vampiro](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=El%20Cuento%20del%20Bucanero%20y%20del%20Vampiro&filter=all). Image by the fabulous .

Previous parts [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=The%20Curse%20of%20Spike%27s%20Ass&filter=all).

  
  


[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/000atwh4/)  
---  
  
** Fourteen **

He should have been happy. He should have been bloody ecstatic. His arms were wrapped about his boy, who was wonderfully warm and snoring softly, and had wrists still a bit red from the ropes that had tied him to the bedposts. Spike’s tongue still tingled with the taste of his boy, rich and salty and intoxicating. His arse was still just a bit sore, still felt a bit stretched from his boy’s hard girth, and his own cock was soft and sticky and sated, having slipped out of his boy’s tight hole just as Xander fell asleep. The curse was gone. He and Xander were safe. Even his grandsire was fifty percent less broody than usual, having had the rare opportunity to torture someone without sullying his bloated conscience, and then having the Watcher’s bony body to warm his bed.

Spike wasn’t happy, though. He was furious. He narrowed his eyes and glared at the piece of paper that lay half-unfolded on the bedside table. Stupid, poncy, expensive paper, so heavy it almost felt like parchment, hand-engraved with an ostentatious gothic V at the top and a snarling dragon at the bottom. It had been hand-delivered by a courier, a supercilious little bugger who would admit to speaking only Hungarian and Romanian, but who went satisfyingly scarlet when Spike had muttered “Bug-eater,” in the Queen’s own English.

The letter itself was written using a fountain pen in a rust-colored ink that was undoubtedly meant to be mistaken for blood. The letters were blotchy, the handwriting even more antique and ornate than his own. Spike had read the letter to Xander while Xander was rather, erm, tied up.

 _ My Dearest Manservant _ , it began, which had made Spike growl until Xander kicked him. _It was with great interest that I read your missive. I find myself quite curious as to how you have come to be in possession of a newly-made vampire with a soul, and why you wish to divest yourself of his care. I am also anxious to learn in what capacity you have come to be in the company of members of the Aurelian clan. They are an unsavory lot, prone to fits of insanity, and quite beneath you, my dear boy._ Spike had growled more at that, until Xander laughed and pointed out that, at the moment, anyway, it was Xander who was beneath Spike, and perfectly happy to be there.

The letter continued, _Because of my esteem for you, I am willing to meet this fledge of yours, and to see if there is some small use I can make of him within my household.  However_ —and Spike knew the old bastard would have a however— _I must insist that you accompany him. I confess I am anxious to renew our acquaintance after our long separation, and I trust that you feel the same._ “I don’t,” Xander had said hastily. “You know you’re my one and only beloved demon, Spike.”

Spike scowled and went on. _In one week’s time, I shall have a private jet prepared to transport you and the fledge from Los Angeles to Sibiu. My servants shall provide a casket for the fledge’s safe transportation. A limousine and driver shall await you in Sibiu, from whence my estate is only a short journey._

 _ Until then I remain, _

_ Your most affectionate Master _

The last word had been too much, and Spike had vamped out. It was only Xander’s trusting, slightly amused expression that had calmed him a bit, and had allowed his human face to slip back into place.

Now, Xander turned around in Spike’s arms and looked at him reproachfully, his fringe falling over his single eye. “Stop pouting so loudly. I’m trying to sleep,” he said.

“I don’t _pout_ ,” Spike said.

Xander leaned his head forward a bit and nibbled at Spike’s lower lip. Then he released it and kissed it instead. “Any bigger of a shelf here and I could put books on it.”

Spike made a grumbling sound that was meant to sound scary, but Xander only chuckled and gave Spike’s arse a healthy squeeze.

“You’re not going,” Spike said.

Xander loosened his right hand and slapped Spike’s rump instead. “We’ve already gone over this ground. I _am_ going, because otherwise we’re gonna be stuck with Andrew like an albatross around our necks. And where the hell does that phrase come from, anyway?”

“From Coleridge’s poem. The albatross was meant to be good luck, but one of the sailors shot it, and—” He stopped himself and frowned. “Don’t change the bloody subject. We’ll just stake the little nancy.”

“Yeah, and then have Buffy all pissed at us, and Willow too. I’m not going up against those two. C’mon, Spike, it’s no big deal. I’ll get off the plane, dump Andrew in Drac’s lap, and then fly right back home for a resumption of the fun and games.” He pressed his groin against Spike’s to emphasize his point.

 “Stubborn git.” Spike sighed. “Fine. But I’m going with.”

***

Spike had never been on an airplane before. He didn’t fancy it.

He knew there was physics behind it and whatnot, but his Victorian brain refused to believe that something as big and bloody heavy as a jet could get in the air and stay there for hours. People weren’t meant to fly. Vampires were most certainly not meant to fly. It wasn’t natural.

Xander did what he could to make Spike feel better. He pointed out that while Andrew was locked in a steel coffin in the unheated, unpressurized cargo hold, he and Spike were sprawled in leather chairs with a flat screen telly in front of them and a pretty bird in a short skirt to bring them drinks. When the girl had come by for the fifth or sixth time with the bottle of Jack, Xander had smiled at her and persuaded her to just leave the bottle. Xander had asked Spike for stories of some of his travels about Europe, and didn’t bat an eye when Spike explained why the gypsies had refused to remove Angelus’s curse. And when all that still didn’t put Spike at ease, Xander had dragged him into the miniscule loo and proceeded to initiate them both into the Mile High Club.

Spike had to admit—he did feel more relaxed after that last bit.

But he became tense again as they landed, and then waited nearly an hour with the impatient and unhappy chauffeur for the sun to set so that Spike could make his way to the car, and then wound their way through the streets of Sibiu and then up into the nearby mountains. Xander sat pressed against him as they rode, sometimes gnawing on Spike’s ear, mostly dozing. At least Andrew was still locked up inside the coffin—Spike could not have managed being confined in such a small space with the twat had Andrew been able to speak.

“So what’s the deal with you and Drac, anyway?” Xander yawned.

“He’s an arrogant, grandstanding, phony prick. He talked to that bogtrotting arsehole and made up all manner of shite and told everyone and his uncle how to kill vampires and then acted like he was king of the bloody undead. And he owes me 11 pounds.”

Xander raised his eyebrows. “Is that all?”

In a voice even Spike could tell sounded sulky, he responded, “He fancies you.”

“That’s because the Xan-Man is irresistible.” He kissed Spike’s cheek. “But he can fancy away from now ‘til Doomsday, because I only fancy _you_.”

Spike was slightly mollified. But only slightly, because he’d seen Dracula pull that Renfield crap before, and Spike had never managed to thrall anyone himself, and he was secretly afraid Dracula was going to steal his boy away. Perhaps even without the thrall. Why would Xander want a smallish, mostly ordinary vampire when he could have a famous one who owned a bloody castle and pranced about in capes? Xander liked capes.

By the time the limo turned onto a long gravel driveway and then pulled to a stop in front of an actual bloody moat which was neither original to the building nor historically accurate, Spike was struggling to keep his fangs from descending. The drawbridge lowered with a series of squeals. The portcullis on the opposite side rattled upward. And Dracula strode out, smiling broadly.

His hair was shoulder-length, held loosely back with a black ribbon. He wore a pair of black trousers with black satin trim that matched his waistcoat, a ruffled scarlet shirt, and a large medallion on a white ribbon that hung about his neck. At least he wasn’t wearing the sodding cape.

He stepped quickly across the drawbridge and then, ignoring Spike entirely, approached Xander with his arms held out. “Alexander! It has been much too long! But whatever happened to your eye? Come! Let us retire inside and you shall tell me of all your adventures.” He clapped a hand on Xander’s shoulder and began to urge him toward the castle.

Spike snarled.

  



	15. Chapter 15

“Ow. Ow…owie…owie…OW!”

Andrew woke cold, bruised and hungry in the steel box and his neck was all out of alignment. His chiropractor would not be pleased.

“I do hope you find your accommodations most comfortable, Alexander. Your room has a particularly lovely view of the mountains.”

“And a charming lack of drapes, I’m sure,” Spike complained bitterly.

“Perhaps you would like to freshen up? My servant Alejandro will show you to your suite.”

“Um, thanks, but y’know, I think I’ll just stay with Spike if it’s all the same to you.”

“Alejandro, please see that an extra bed is added to the room.”

“Don’t see why—”

“Thank you! Ma—um—I mean, um…”

“Please, such formality is touching but unnecessary. We are…old friends, are we not? You may call me Vlad.”

“Oh, very nice…”

“Something you’d like to say William?”

“That’s Spike to you, and yeah, we came here to offload a minion and we’d just as soon have done with it. So collect your toadie and we’ll be on our way.”

“Spike…”

“Now, now, Alexander, it’s quite all right. Indeed. You’ve brought me a get of yours and I must admit curiosity as to whom could have inspired such fascination in William the Bloody to be gifted with immortality. I wasn’t under the impression you were a great believer in bestowing the dark gifts. And with one such as Alexander at hand, this childe of yours must be quite extraordinary indeed.”

“Wouldn’t call him extraordinary—”

There was an oofing sound and Spike appeared to reconsider his position. “I’d have to say extraordinary doesn’t begin to cover it. Yep. Our Andrew. A right little hellion, that one.”

“Super guy,” Xander chimed in.

“I see. Well let’s have a look at your progeny, shall we?”

There was a deafening _clang_ as the lock was broken off. Andrew blinked in the blinding light and stared up into the three faces peering down at him.

“ _Vlad Dracul_ ,” he identified, awed. The Dark Prince looked pleased. He extended a hand to Andrew. Andrew wiped his hand on his slightly grubby shirt before taking it and allowing the Prince of Darkness to assist him out of the box. “I’m a big fan,” he told him, earnestly.

Dracula smiled enigmatically. “You would leave your sire for a place in my court?”

Andrew looked from Spike’s mean looking smirk to Xander’s vigorous nodding.

He lifted his chin. “Yes. Yes I would.”

Dracula leaned closer, his raven hair dramatically obscuring his face from Spike and Xander.

“There is darkness in you, little one. They…do not appreciate you, no?” He asked.

Andrew’s lip trembled. “I just wanted to be cool. I’m not cool. I’m just a geek,” he admitted, mournfully. “Even when I was a Watcher no one respected my authority.”

Dracula nodded sympathetically. “And…Spike. He was…desirable to you?”

Andrew swallowed and stared at his feet. “I thought sires loved their childer.”

Dracula tutted. “Most do. But most choose their childer willingly,” he said, a note of censure creeping into his tone. “I do not tolerate scheming or manipulation in my court. You will obey me, or you will watch the sun rise.”

Andrew’s eyes widened. “Yes, master.”

The Dark Prince placed a hand on his shoulder. Andrew shivered. “Then you shall have the desires of your heart.”

He snapped his fingers and the minion he addressed as Alejandro appeared. “Please take my young charge to his rooms. Bring him whatever he wishes.”

Alejandro nodded and Andrew was suddenly running to keep pace behind him, fearful of becoming lost in the stone corridors.

 _The desires of his heart._ He thought. _Well_ that _can’t suck._

 

Xander and Spike lay nude, entwined on yards of silk in the velvet-curtained four-poster bed of their tower suite. It was very cozy, all told, despite the draftiness of the rooms. They’d made love in front of the fire, both reluctantly overcome by the romance of the castle setting, until there were only gently glowing embers in the grate and the wind that seeped through cracks around the bubbled glazing chilled the sweat on Xander’s body.

“Could get used to this,” Xander admitted with a sigh, tightening his arms around Spike who nuzzled his chest like a great cat in response.

“Not a prince,” Spike mumbled sleepily.

Xander smiled and pressed a kiss onto the top of his head. “My prince,” he said.

He heard Spike’s smile. “Sap.”

“So that wasn’t a love poem I found in my socks earlier? Cause I could have _sworn_ —EEYAH!” Xander shrieked as Spike flipped and began mercilessly tickling his ribs. “Stop! STOP! MERCY! UNCLE!”

Spike smiled broadly and collapsed on Xander’s chest, forcing his breath out with a harsh “Oof!” and ran his hand through Xander’s hair. “You deserve this, you know,” he told him.

“Hey, if you can’t tease your vampire about his poetry—”

Spike smacked him lightly in the back of the head, but his tone was wistful. “Should have a castle. Deserve better than a ruddy hotel room, at any rate. Better n’me,” he added, the beginnings of a sulk clouding his expression.

It was Xander’s turn to smack the back of Spike’s head fondly before leaning up and capturing his lips in a kiss designed to tantalize, tongue stroking the cool ridges of his hard palate before gently caressing each fang in turn until the desired bone-deep shudder racked his lover’s body. “Mmm,” he groaned happily, licking his lips as he retreated. “Don’t think so. I’m good with what I’ve got.”

Spike’s eyes burned as he lowered himself to place a nipping kiss on Xander’s collar bone, hands stroking his arms, tracing maps of old scars and new bite marks bestowed in love and trust. Xander arched decadently into Spike’s body, absorbing each loving touch into his soul.

This was contentment. This was bliss.

Spike worshiped Xander’s body with single minded devotion. A suggestion of teeth around his areola and Xander released a harsh breath. Spike’s tongue swept the hollow of his hipbone and Xander bucked, using the momentum to reverse their positions. Spike grinned up at the desperation that must have shown in his face.

He thrust against him, slow, slow, banking his desire until Spike bit his own lip. A trickle of crimson at the corner of his mouth Xander caught with a sweep of his tongue, a forceful kiss, and he entered Spike with no resistance. His body surged, rutting against Xander frantically as he pounded into Spike the full measure of his need.

Spike cried out, teeth clenched as his face shifted. He came as Xander swelled and spent into his body with a whimper.

Xander caught his breath as he lowered himself to wrap protectively around Spike who clung to him as was his wont after sex, whether for warmth or the satisfaction of some other instinct, he didn’t care. He pulled Spike against him tighter and kissed his eyelids, his cheekbones, his lips. He pressed his forehead to Spike’s and closed his eyes.

“I don’t want to go back to L.A.,” he confessed.

Blue eyes searched his. “For how long?” he asked perceptively.

Xander thought of the gang back at the Hyperion, efficiently going about their other-worldly business.

“I’m thinking of retiring. They can call if they need a consult.”

That won him a very energetic kiss that Xander broke off with a laugh. “What’s it going to take to wear you out?”

“Love, you tell me you’re taking yourself off the front line, meaning you’re not tossing your sodding mortality about to torment me any longer, and you expect shagging me through the bloody mattress is going to be enough to stop me dancing a bloody jig?”

Xander raised an eyebrow challengingly.

“All right, well, I’m right knackered and I’m not going to flail about like my bogtrotting sire, but I _am_ going to snog you, you silly, soft _git_ , an’ you’re going to lay there and take it, because I bloody well love you and stop looking so damn _smug_ , would you?”

Xander burst out laughing and Spike eventually joined him, both collapsing into a giddy pile.

“I’ll just lay back and think of England then. You may commence with the snogging,” he pronounced.

Spike leaned forward to do so, then turned away, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Now there’s a thought. Fancy a tour of Old Blighty, love?”

Xander forced a look of extreme concentration. “Will there be castles?”

Spike smirked and muttered against his lips, “I think we can arrange something.”

Xander’s response was lost in the snogging that followed, but it was decidedly positive.


End file.
